IT
by ShadowOfApate
Summary: BTVS/IT Xover. What if Willow was one of the seven children in IT.
1. Chapter 1

Title: IT   
Chapter: One/Seventeen  
Rating: R  
Spoilers: Up to and including the last season shown.  
Beta Reader: Scotty Welles   
Shadow Welles

Summary: Alt-Buffy/IT verse and crossover. What if Willow was the  
seventh member of the choosen group instead of Ben.

Disclaimer: Nope, don't belong to me. IT belongs to Stephan King, so do all of his most  
cool characters. So on with the story.

  
Summer of 1989  


She ran past the small downtown section, her legs pumping impossibly  
down the steepest hills in Derry. Her lungs were burning, sharp pains  
shooting through her sides, as she tried to run even harder. She could  
hear them behind her, gaining on her even with her agile frame.  
Mentally she cursed herself for not exercising regularly.

She sped sharply around the curve leading down towards the barrens,  
skidding to the left. She grunted as she used her right hand to keep  
herself from falling and kept going without losing stride. The long  
white fence began to her left giving her the strength to keep going.  
If she could just make it to the barrens then she could...

She screamed out as a large filthy hand grabbed her long red hair,  
dragging her to a stop.

"Hold her."

Vic nodded vigorously. "Sure, Henry, anything you say. Red isn't  
going anywhere. Is she?"

"No, we've got the little bitch," Belch answered.

The Guns Roses wannabes held her arms while Henry stepped in front of  
her. His slashed black concert shirt was stained horribly with dried  
food and condiments. The longhaired boy held up the science book she'd  
been reading just minutes before in the only fast food place in Derry.   
The smirk on his face widened at the horror she knew she was projecting  
for her book. He dropped the book to the ground and kicked it, sending  
the precious gift into the sewer drain. 

"NO!!" She scowled at Henry with unshed tears in her eyes. "You  
bastard..."

"Oh man, Red's got spirit."

"Tell you what, nerd. Since you seem to like learning so much, why  
don't we give you a lesson you won't forget?" Henry held up a long  
switchblade, the slightly rusted blade popping up. "Lesson one: who do  
you belong to bitch?"

"I'll never belong to you." 

The smirk left his face, leaving the dark emotions, glaring at his two  
laughing friends. "Shut up or you'll be next" 

Belch swallowed his laughter, but Vic snorted one last time. 

"You will if you're marked." He yanked her shirt up, his knife  
centimeters from her skin.

She spit in his face and stomped on Belch's foot.

Henry grabbed her head, forcing it down as he sliced the first line of  
an H into her stomach. The pain roared in her head, demanding that she  
try harder to get away.

Using the pain to clear her head, she drove her knee up into Henry's  
crotch and threw herself backwards. Belch and Vic's grips loosened,  
causing her to crash through the brittle fence.

The briars and thorns of the thickened underbrush snagged at her skin,  
drawing long, thin lines of blood. She tried to control her rolling,  
but the steep hill forced her to go faster, mowing down baby trees.  
She barely stifled the horrid cry as a fallen trunk stopped her fall.

Tired and sore, she lay there, until the loud howl of anger shot  
through the quiet forest. A spike of fear forced her to her feet,  
getting a small glimpse of the three bullies sliding down the hill.  
She took off into another run, slower than before, leaving her little   
chance of getting away.

Oh her parents were just going to love this. They send their nerd  
daughter to Derry for the summer to get her away from Cordy and her  
flunkies, only to end up dealing with Henry and his groupies. She  
could just hear her mother now. 'Willow, why can't you just be a good  
little girl and play nice?'

"Where'd she go?"

"I don't see her."

"She couldn't have gone far." 

"WILLOW!! YOU COME OUT HERE, LITTLE GIRL, AND MAYBE I'LL LET YOU  
LIVE!"

She snorted softly to herself. 'Oh yeah, that was really motivating.'  
She glanced over her shoulder to see if they were behind her.

In the distance she could hear the sound of trickling water and sped  
up, her eyes searching for the source. She almost missed the sewer  
pipe sticking out of the hillside. The smelly, gray water pooling down  
the muddy stream and into the creek. Behind her, she could hear the  
stooges catching up, leaving her no other choice if she wanted to live. 

She cautiously climbed into the drain and scooted back far enough to be  
hidden by the shadows. Her breathing sped up as her instincts screamed  
at her to get the hell out of the pipe. Fear gripped her heart, worse  
than any fear she'd experienced before. The cold draft of wind touched  
her bruised and bloody skin, wrapping her a deep-set, petrifying  
emotion. The horrid smell of the gray water was now undetectable under  
a new smell filtering past her.

Her brow wrinkled in confusion. She took in a large breath trying to  
determine that she wasn't losing her mind. The drain now smelled  
like...cotton candy, elephants, hay, popcorn. She nearly lost her  
lunch as she was engulfed by the strongest of the smells. Death.

She was vaguely aware that Henry and his friends had bypassed her  
several minutes ago, but her need to know what was happening was  
strong. Ignoring the voice in her mind telling her to get out now, she  
slowing turned to look into the darkness.

A dim glow of light filled the pipe, just enough so she could see, but  
still giving it the darkness it had. Her eyes strained trying to  
find...something. She swore slightly under breath, backing up slowly,  
as she spotted two silver colored eyes staring at her. Gradually, she  
began to see more of it, leaving her on the verge of hysterical  
laughter. 

She felt the edge of the pipe, as her brain registered what she was  
seeing. A clown, dressed in a silver clown suit, with orange pom-poms.  
White makeup, and blood red painted mouth. Two orange tufts stuck out  
from his bald head like large horns. A small, fearful sob escaped her  
mouth.

"Oh, you're not leaving so soon, are you? Don't you want a balloon?  
They float down here, they all float down here. Try one. You'll love  
it down here. It's like Never Never Land and Pleasure Island and the   
Land of Oz and Narnia. You don't grow up here, you remain a child   
forever, just like all kiddies want. You can feed the elephants and  
ponies and watch all the clowns. You can sweets and popcorn and cotton  
candy until you're sick."

She carefully dropped out of the pipe, her eyes locked on It. "No,  
thanks, I-I'm not supposed to talk to strangers, and you're a stranger,  
but then again I'm talking to you, so I'd better shut up now. Besides,   
and no offense, Mr. Clown Guy...uh, Person, but I don't like balloons,  
because even if they are floaty goodness on a string, they make those  
horrible noises when they rub together, and then it's like, ugh, you  
know what I mean? Of course you know what I mean, after all you are a  
clown...of some sort, so you should know. Come to think of it, I don't  
like clowns very much either, I mean it's sort of spooky to watch guys  
wearing this makeup that makes them look so fake and scary-like. And  
what's with all the hitting and chasing and fascination with fire and  
heights? I mean, it's just not kosher, and trust me I know what kosher  
is, being Jewish and all. Does that bother you, because it bothers  
some people and they get all 'you're a Christ-Killer!' and all that?  
Oh wait, is that my mother calling? My mother's calling, so I'd better   
go, because you know how parents are when you disobey them. So it was  
nice...er...well, it was unique meeting you, but I seriously hope we  
don't meet again, because any grownup that dresses like that and goes  
crawling around in sewers is seriously screwed up, not that you are. I  
mean, I'm sure you're a very nice man once people get to know, although  
I have the strangest feeling that you don't really have any friends..."

She stopped backing away, and gulped at the look of the clown climbing  
out of the pipe. "Uh, bye."

Fear drove her to run faster and faster, barely hearing the inhuman  
voice laughing crazily. 

"Oh, don't worry, we'll be friends. And when we are, you'll float,  
too."

Somehow, that was not comforting. She had never been one of those  
children that was scared of the monster under the bed, or in the  
closet. She was usually the one to comfort her best friends, Jesse and  
Xander, when they got freaked. Not that they would ever admit it, most  
of the time they both were trying to act like posturing men. It always   
made her laugh when, on sleepovers, the two posturing males would be  
jittery and scared after hours of watching gory, dark horror movies,  
while she would simply watch them like the fake gore they were.

Now, while her eyes told her that it was only a clown, her mind and  
instincts told her she was faced with the very monster she'd always  
laughed at. She wanted to go home, back to Sunnydale. She was even  
wanting to Cordy again, if it meant getting away from this.

"Oof!" Some obstruction in her path collapsed under her, bringing her  
down as well.

She blinked into the eyes of an auburn haired girl her age. "Um...hi?" 

The auburn haired girl smiled slightly up at her. "Hi. Uh, could you  
get up?"

A deep blush covered her face as she rolled off the girl. "I'm sorry,  
I didn't see you and this evil clown dude in the sewer was chasing me  
a-and laughing and talking about things floating, a-and Henry was after  
me, and I'm being forced to stay with my nutso uncle who thinks he's  
the Phantom of the Opera and runs around wearing a cape and singing,  
and I just want to go home."

"It's okay, trust me. I know what Henry is capable of." The auburn  
haired girl smiled shyly.

"Oh, I'm Willow."

"Beverly. Your uncle's Ol' Man Greg?"

Willow nodded pitifully. She loved her uncle, but spending the summer  
with him was too much for even her to handle. "Yeah. I've been having  
some problems with bullies at home, and my parents blame it on me, so   
they sent me out here until school starts."

Beverly nervously glanced around the barrens, swallowing hard. "I'm on   
my way to Bill and Eddie's. We're trying to build a dam. Would you  
like to join us?"

Willow relaxed and nodded, helping the other girl to her feet. "I'd  
love to." 

Her cheeks tinted red as Beverly hooked their arms together. "Welcome  
to the Losers' Club."

Chapter: Two  
  
Summer Of 1989  


The Barrens were used as a sanctuary from the town. The people who  
lived there were good at ignoring what was happening around them. They  
were even better at pretending nothing was wrong. Whenever Henry and  
his groupies would start their terrorizing the adults would turn their  
heads to it, or simply tell both Henry and his victim to take it  
outside.

Parents were great at living in an imaginary world where tragedy was   
ignored, and their children were raised the same way. The town acted  
as though no crime ever took place, and when it did they brushed it  
off. They just looked through what was happening. 

The truth was hard to handle. Tragedy was an everyday occurrence,  
every thirty years something would happen that would devastate the  
town. Crime was worse there than in most large cities. Bigotry was as  
bad as it was in the forties and fifties. 

But in the Barrens, they were able to escape the nightmare of   
day-to-day life. Here they could be the children they wanted to be  
without worry of criticism or fear of being bullied. Here they could  
explore the depths of the Congo, cross the most dangerous rivers, and  
go to war with whatever country that was declaring war.

Now, Willow found herself a part of the group. The Losers' Club, as  
they lovingly referred to it. On some level she knew she should be  
wary of Bev and the friends that she kept talking about, but it felt  
right, like she was meant to meet Bev, meant to be a part of the group.

It felt serious, as though she was needed for some major problem, and  
it scared her. But the loyal instincts were proud of the idea, and if  
they needed her for some reason than she was in it to the end. She  
leaned into a giggling Bev.

"...so Richie mashed his tray into Henry's chest. You should've seen  
the look on his face." 

Willow snickered at the image her new friend had painted. "He sounds  
just like my best friend Xander."

"Ugh, I'm sorry. No one deserves that."

Both girls burst into fresh giggles. They both cared for their friends  
no matter what they were like. "Maybe this summer won't be so bad  
after all."

"B-B-B-Bev-v-v-vy. W-w-w-who's y-y-you're fr-fr-fr-friend?"

"Willow. You could say we ran into each other."

Willow elbowed the giddy girl, and waved to the tall, lean boy and his  
friend.

The shorter, pale boy gripped an inhaler in his hand, and studied her  
for a second before giving a wry smile. "I-I'm B-B-Bill and this is   
E-E-E-E-..."

"Eddie. Jeez, Bill you know I hate it when you stutter my name. You  
sound like Porky Pig." 

"W-w-what were y-y-you r-r-uning fr-from?"

Willow clenched her jaw slightly, trying to stop the babble she knew  
was coming. "Henry and his stooges."

"Why were they chasing you?"

Bill shook his head sadly. "Th-those guys a-a-are a-always chasing  
someone."

"Henry came onto me and I refused."

Beverly cocked an eyebrow at her. "That's all?" 

"HealsograbbedmybreastandImight'vedumpedmyfoodonhim." 

Bill whistled softly. "M-m-man, y-you m-m-must h-have a death w-wish."

Eddie snorted and chuckled at her. "Yeah, you want to die young or  
something?"

"No, but I also don't want to get felt up by some greasy haired,  
smelly, Kizz wannabe."

Eddie clapped her on the back. "You know what? You're not so bad."

"Gee, thanks," she said dryly. "I'm honored." She turned to the grey  
and brown creek running beside her. Thin, trashy boards, poorly put   
together, were placed across the creek in a makeshift dam. Even a   
hacker like her could tell that it wouldn't hold up long. 

"W-w-we're building a d-dam."

"It won't hold like that," she muttered, just loud enough for them to  
hear her. "There's no support to keep the boards from washing away."

"How do you know this?"

She bowed her head with shame, doubting they would still like her if  
she told them the truth, but knowing that she was incapable of lying.  
"I spend a lot of time on my computer and in the library."

Bill's hand came to rest on her left shoulder, while Bev rehooked her  
arm into her right. Eddie stood next to Bill, all of them watching the   
spiraling water pound against the boards, bending and pushing them past  
their abilities.

"Then what do we do to make it work?"

Willow smiled evilly at Bev and cocked her head. "I'll show you."

"Now what?"

"Now we work." Willow grabbed the jumbo rectangular board and dragged  
it towards the creek. "Take off your shoes, because you're going to  
get wet."

She picked up the sledgehammer that she'd borrowed from her uncle and  
waited for Bill and Eddie to place the board. Bev moved in between the  
two boys to help hold it, and nodded to Willow that they were ready.  
She carefully lifted the sledgehammer to her shoulder and brought in  
down on the edge of the thick board, driving it into the wet mud.

Time after time, she grunted as she brought the heavy tool down onto  
the board. The water pooled over the embankment, over her bare feet  
and rushing over the grass. She brought the hammer down one last time,   
satisfied that the board was secure.

"Bill, you hold the board into place. Bev, you and Eddie get the other  
board." Willow jumped down beside Bill and placed the two shorter  
boards against it, wedging them into the dirt. She smiled at Bev as  
they placed the board on the other side, leaving a foot of space.  
"Come on, Bev, let's start digging."

The auburn haired girl grinned at her as she picked up the second  
shovel. She found herself smiling back at her. She just couldn't  
understand the feelings this girl was bringing out in her. It was a  
struggle not to blush in her presence.

"So where are you from?" 

"Sunnydale, California." Willow threw a large shovelful of mud into  
the space, aiming for Bev's feet. The dark wet mud splashed on Bev's  
bare legs. "Um, oops?" 

"Oooh, you're in for it now." Bev threw her own shovelful towards her,  
with the same result. "Do you have a lot of friends?"

"Only Jesse and Xander." 

Bev smiled with understanding, reassuring her that not being the Drama  
Queen wasn't so bad. "The important thing is you have two close  
friends, that you can depend on."

Willow dumped another shovel full of dirt in, adding rocks and gravel  
this time. "No, the important thing is I have five close friends that   
I can depend on."

Bev flushed with a beaming smile, her eyes glimmering with  
something...unfamiliar to her. The urge to say something else, to get  
her to continue looking at her like that was unbearable.

"I wonder were Richie and Stan are."

"Who?"

Bill grinned up at her. "R-r-r-r-r-ichie To-o-zier. H-h-h-he's..."

"Here." Bev sighed, pointing to the skinny boy walking up.

His black glasses were taped together in several places, and his arm  
was slung over the shoulders of another boy, wearing a Boy Scout   
uniform. The boy kept shooting scowls at Richie and trying to pull  
away, but the Richie would simply laugh and reach up to give him a  
noogie. Finally, the other boy managed to duck away, trying to  
straighten his hair.

"Ohhhh, who's the babe?" Richie sauntered up, letting out a wolf  
whistle. "Oh baby, light my fire. So tell me, Red, what's a fine  
looking hunk of skin doing in a place like this?"

Willow nearly winced at the horrible accent coming from the red haired  
boy. "Uh, well..."

"Hallelujah, I finally left a woman speechless." The freckled joker  
leaned in closer, waggling his eyebrows. "Whattya say we go someplace  
dark and private so we can get to know each other better? If ya know  
what I mean." 

She rolled her eyes at his antics. Sidling up closer, she whispered,  
"Why don't you go on ahead without me, after all you're probably an  
expert at it by now. Babe."

"Beep beep, Richie," Bev called through her laughter.

Richie grinned at her with adoring eyes. "I think I'm in luvvvv..." 

"Great, I leave one jackass to end up with another." 

Richie bowed deeply. "I may be a jackass but you may call me by my  
middle name. Oz."

"Tell you what, 'Wiz', why don't you make yourself useful and grab a  
shovel." 

"Yeahhss, ma'am."

Willow snorted at him. She hated to admit it, but she liked Oz. Stan  
sat on the bank, talking with the others. She wondered briefly why he  
wasn't willing to help, but shoved the thought away.

  
Chapter: Three  
  
Summer Of 1989  


Willow ate the sandwich Bill gave her greedily. Every muscle in her  
body hurt from the last two days, and if felt great. She leaned into  
Bev and grinned at Oz as he went into another outrageous tale. The  
creek below them slapped over the bank, running along it, spreading out  
over the ground below the hill they were sitting on. Dark brown water  
spun in a cyclone, splashing over the dam.

"Red, youse is a genius! Why, we can flood out the entire Barrens and  
holds it for hostage!" 

Stan snorted at Oz. "Hostage for what?"

"Why, for chocolate, of course! It's the drug of choice, the food of  
the century, the greatest invention ever."

"Uh-huh, and just how would you go about this?"

Oz bounced to his feet and puffed out his chest. He opened his mouth  
and began a speech.

"R-R-R-Richie, I-I-I need t-to t-t-tell y-y-you so-so-something."

Oz sat back down, all joking forgotten. Everyone could feel the shift  
in the air. They were no longer 11-year-olds, carefree and playful.  
Now they were mature people, having to be serious and take charge of  
something that no one else seemed to know.

"A-a-after my bro-ther d-died, I went i-into his  
r-room a-a-a-nd started to l-look t-t-through h-his  
ph-ph-ph...pic-t-t-ture album. H-h-h-his school   
p-p-p-pict-ture, i-i-i-t m-m-m-moved." Bill took a deep breath,  
clenching his fists as he tried to force the words out. "H-he  
m-m-moved his he-he-head and w-winked at me. W-when I   
t-threw it away, t-the album s-s-s-star-r-r-rted  
f-f-f-flipping and b-began tto ble-ble-ble-bleed. M-m-my  
p-parents ccouldn't s-s-s-see it."

Eddie gasped for breath and closed his eyes, the story triggering  
something he'd rather forget. Most Saturdays he didn't have anyone to  
hang out with, so he'd ride his bike around the old train yards by  
Neibolt Street. He was fascinated with the trains that would come by.  
The speed and the slick build of the machines. He loved the way the  
six tracks weaved in and out of the yards. Trains would fly by, so  
fast that they were a blur of whistles and metal. Sometimes crates  
would fall off, or the workers would throw them off. Once a worker had   
thrown a large crate of lobsters off, yelling at him to take them home  
to his momma.

The only thing that really scared him about the train yards were the  
hobos. They would ride in on the trains and jump off for a few days.  
Their skin was dried and sunken in. Always drunk and asking for  
cigarettes. Begging for food and drink.

There was a house next to the train yards. It had been abandoned for a  
number of years. The paint was chipped and rusted. The windows so  
dirty they were black from years of neglect. The rickety porch was  
gaped with broken boards. The yard was overgrown with weeds and crab  
grass, almost as tall as Eddie. The porch stood three feet off the  
ground, leaving a gap under the porch where people could see the  
basement windows.

One particular day, the sky had grayed as though a storm was coming.  
The quiet was deafening, nothing brave enough to break it. He'd  
wandered over to the house, curiosity piquing his interest. He'd seen  
the house before, always wondering about its history.

The porch creaked in warning as an old hobo crawled out from under it.  
He smiled through browned checkered teeth, his face splitting   
sickeningly through the dried disease that covered it. Eddie had begun  
to back away nervously from him. His nose was missing one nostril,  
letting him see right into the red, scabby channel. 

"I'll give you a blow job for a quarter."

Eddie felt his stomach churning dangerously. "I don't have a quarter." 

"I'll do it for a dime." The hobo cackled, reaching down to the  
disgusting lime green flannel pants, torn and stained, with dried vomit  
on his crotch. He unzipped his fly, and reached in.

"I don't have a dime either." Eddie glanced back, trying to project  
himself to his bike. He swallowed through a dry throat as he realized  
that the hobo had leprosy. He gagged and ran for his bike, jumping on  
it chaotically.

He felt the hobo on his rear and pedaled even faster. "Come here, kid,  
don't you want a blow job? I'll even give it for free." 

His chest tightened, warning him of the oncoming asthma attack, yet he  
pedaled even faster. If he could just make it to the Barrens...

Oz snorted at him. "He didn't have no Leprosy, he had syph."

"Is there such a thing?" 

Bill nodded solemnly. "Y-y-yeah, i-i-i-t's a f-f-f-ucking  
d-d-disease."

Eddie looked to Willow for confirmation. The redhead nodded slyly, and  
leaned closer to Bev.

"But what does it do?"

Oz grinned evilly at him. "It makes your body rot. Your nose goes  
first, sometimes it falls off completely. Then your cock..." 

"D-d-d-do y-y-you m-m-m-ind? I j-j-j-just ate." 

Oz held up his hands up in mock surrender, but the look on his face was  
anything but sorry.

"There's more." 

Six weeks after the run in he'd found himself standing outside the  
house, held by a sick fascination with the house. He sensed something  
inherently wrong with it, and despite his fear, he wanted to know what.  
He wanted to run, he wanted to just flee and never come back, but some  
force outside himself was pushing him here, and here he was. Waiting  
for something to happen.

He stood still in the yard, gripping his inhaler against his chest as   
he watched the house slide toward him. He stared down at his feet just  
to make sure he hadn't moved, and looked back up, to see the house  
still coming towards him.

Curiosity took over and he bent over to look under the porch, not  
surprisingly there was no one there. The hobos that came to Derry  
rarely stayed beyond the September to November months. During the  
summers it was too hot for them here, and during the winter it was too  
cold. Usually covered in snow throughout the season.

The only signs of any occupation were the dirty, broken, bottles of  
booze. Shredded, stiff blankets that were covered in bodily waste and  
vomit. A shoe that lay on its side. The sole half hanging off, with  
shoelaces that were frayed beyond use.

Unwittingly, he crawled under the porch, gasping until he saw lights in  
his eyes. His hands splayed over faded newspapers, straw and leaves  
that had been used for bedding. They crinkled with no sound under his  
weight. Pausing by the blanket, he picked it up, wrinkling his nose at  
the sewer smell, and tossed it aside, giving him a view of the basement   
window.

The window was cracked, spidered out in a web. The dark brown dirt,  
sour waste and booze kept him from seeing inside. His chest tightened,  
sending him into a spin of wheezing breaths. He reached forward, using  
his long sleeve to wipe at the window. The thick covering smeared and  
moved, turning the navy blue sleeve black. The small circle he'd  
managed to get halfway clear let him see only pitch black. Sighing  
with relief, he started to back up.

Unsure why, he paused by the porch exit and peered at the window.

Screaming out in a wheezing breath as a face appeared.

Whatever it was it had assumed the hobo's gut-wrenching appearance,  
turning it into a nightmarish vision. Skin split wide open around its  
face, in some places showing the dirty, yellowish-white bone  
underneath. Its lips were cracked, and chunks were missing from the  
thin layers of tissue. A gaping hole stood out in its left cheek,  
where he could see teeth and his sick, yellow, pus-leaking tongue. His  
nose was now entirely missing, snot and boogers dropped down onto his  
mouth. His tongue slurped out every few seconds to lick at his lips.  
Silver eyes stared back at him, winking as a large grin covered what  
was left of his face. He could tell that whatever this thing was it  
wasn't human; it just wasn't possible. Any human in that condition  
would be dead.

The glass of the window burst towards him, the creature twisting  
through the window towards him. A deep-throated, scraping, inhuman  
voice made him scream inside that it was only a dream.

"Ya want a blow job, Eddie? Ol' Bob Gray does it for a dime, fifteen  
for overtime, but I'm willing to do it anytime. Whattya say, Eddie?"  
The creature crawled towards him, wearing some sort of silver clown  
suit, beetles falling down onto his hands. His eyeball popped out of  
his right eye, the nerves decayed, hanging onto it by strands. The   
silver eye bobbed and bounced against his cheek. "Oops. Could ya help  
me, Eddie? Just pop it right back in there." 

Eddie pushed away from the porch, blindly walking backwards towards his  
bike. As scared and disgusted as he was, he just couldn't drag his  
eyes away.

"Come with me, Eddie, it's fun down here. Your friends are waiting for  
you..." 

Gasping out, he sprinted towards his bike, leaping onto it and pedaling  
as fast as his short legs could handle it. Tears sat unshed in his  
eyes as he raced through the streets, too scared to stop, and even more  
scared to look back.

The front wheel slammed into a stump, sending him to ground. Crying in  
earnest, he curled into a ball.

The others sat around staring at the ground, each lost in their own  
fear.

"It's real," Eddie whispered.

"I-i-it's r-r-real. I-I-I-I d-d-didn't i-i-imagine it."

Bev looked up at them. "I saw it, too."

Chapter: Four  
  
Summer Of 1989  


Beverly Marsh had been out running an errand for her father. With the  
curfew, she didn't want to risk being out past seven. For the last few  
months, newborn babies and children from ages ranging up to 16 were  
disappearing in rapid succession, only to reappear days or weeks later  
eaten and mutilated. That is, the bodies they'd managed to find.

The police didn't seem to be to inclined to help, coming up with  
outrageous theories. Ranging from a stranger kidnapping theory to  
"they just wandered off somewhere". The curfew was more of a way to  
make less work for the police investigators than it was out of concern.

But she feared her father more. She learned over the years that   
disobeying him was a painful mistake.

She hugged her oversized coat closer to her body and sped up her pace.  
She was already an hour over the curfew and the rapidly darkening sky  
was making it harder to stay calm.

"Beverly..."

She faltered, in the middle of the canal bridge, at the spine-chilling   
voice going against the wind. Her eyes were drawn to the clown   
standing on the frozen river. His hand was filled with strings leading  
up to a large cluster of balloons. They danced around, floating  
against the wind. His silver eyes seemed unnaturally bright against  
the dull, bone-white and blood-red makeup.

"Come here, Bevy, and I'll give you a balloon. They float, Bevy, they  
all float; take one and see."

She stared with wide eyes at the clown as it became the Mummy. Its  
bandages were beige and hanging. They were loose in some places,  
leaving his face exposed in areas. Embalmed skin stretched across his  
face. He had no visible lips, leaving his teeth showing. Shallow eye  
sockets were dark and bare. It still wore the clown suit.

She felt frozen in place as the Clown Mummy grew closer and closer, but  
his feet weren't moving. Her eyes widened as she noticed that, while  
the ice seemed to glow under the street lamps, the clown cast no   
shadows.

A loud car horn in the distance broke the daze. Startling the clown,  
and giving her the chance to take off in a run.

"Balloons don't float against the wind." 

"Yeah, and pictures don't bleed," Bev snapped back to Oz.

Richie dropped his gaze and shifted nervously. "I, uh...I saw it too.  
You remember that day I ended up splattering Henry and old Stoneface with  
my lunch?"

"Y-y-yeah. H-h-h-he s-s-sent y-y-you down t-t-to the b-b-b-basement  
f-f-f-or a m-m-mop."

Saturday found him broke and desperate. He'd spent breakfast begging  
his father for some money, just enough for him to go the old theater to  
watch a horror double feature. 

His father had sat there, calmly turning the page of the newspaper.  
"Did I give you your allowance this week?" 

"Yeeeeaaaaah."

His father turned another page, reading through the reading glasses  
perched on his nose. "Why don't you use that?"

Oz smiled brightly at his old man. "I tell ya, sir, it's such a tale  
that even the Devil wouldn't believe it. Whys, I wuz going..."

"Richie," his father warned. The gray-haired man folded the paper and  
turned his attention to him. "This means a lot to you?"

"Yes sir, I'll die if I don't go. My tongue will swell up and I'll  
choke to death." Richie grabbed his throat, making a gagging noise,   
his tongue hanging out of the corner of his mouth. When his mother  
glanced over to glare at him, he fell backwards off his chair,  
twitching and convulsing.

"Richie Oswald Tozier, if you don't get off my clean floor right this  
minute..." 

Richie hopped up onto the chair and beamed at his father. 

"Tell you what. I'll give you five dollars once you've cut the grass,  
and I mean the front AND the back."

"But Daaad, that'll take all day, and it wouldn't even be enough to get   
in!"

His father cracked a smile that sent chills through him. 'Oh oh...'  
"When you finish, you can clean your room and I'll give you another  
ten."

Richie was rendered speechless. His father had trapped him, he was  
checkmated and had no way out. 'Oh mannn...'

It had taken the entire morning and most of the afternoon to get  
everything finished. The only reason he'd managed to make it out of  
there with the money had been his sweep-and-hide technique.  
Finely-tuned over the years. But now, he was free.

Waltzing happily through the downtown area, he'd spotted Bill already  
in line. The two boys had decided that, with Eddie out of town and  
Stan on a camping trip, today would be a good day to bond over a horror  
movie, the only way two boys can.

That Monday was the problem. After smashing his tray into Henry, he'd  
made a run in the other direction, ending up slamming head first into  
the assistant principal, Stoneface Jackson. The elder man had taken  
one look at the retreating figures of Henry, Belch, and Victor and  
ordered him to go get a mop from the Janitor.

He was too happy over being let off the hook to even think of  
protesting. Instead, he'd hurried out of there as fast as he could  
without running, before Stoneface could change his mind. Jumping off  
the lower steps to the lower level of the school, he began the futile  
search for Beverly's father.

"Mr. Marshal? Stonef...uh, Mr. Jackson sent me down here for a mop."  
He pushed his way into the basement, where the dark, damp  
cement-floored area held a reek of alcohol and disinfectant. The water  
pipes banged loudly, while the hot water heater churned and spluttered.  
"Mr. Marshal...?!"

He walked deeper into the dimly-lit room, hearing a shuffling from  
behind one of the boilers. "Mr. Marshal? It's Richie, I need to  
borro..."

He sputtered as his throat went suddenly and painfully dry. His knees   
shook, slamming into each other.

The tall, muscular, hairy beast stepped out into the light, roaring at  
him. He numbly took a step away from the werewolf. His worst, most  
secret fear. He'd always been scared of becoming one. Being a  
creature overtaken by animal instincts and uncontrollable killing.

"No, no, no. Man, this is one hunt I want no part of." Richie spun   
around on his heels and ran.

Willow closed her eyes and sighed. "It's taking the form of our worst  
fears. For me, it's a clown, for Bev it's the Mummy, for Eddie the  
leper." 

"That's what's happening to all the children," Bev whispered.

"But why hasn't it killed any of us yet?" Eddie asked.

"I don't know."

Willow looked over to Stan, who'd remained unnaturally still. "What  
about you?"

Stan stared her right in the eyes, his statement stony. "He isn't  
real. You're all crazy. There's no such thing as monsters."

"It is real."

"No it isn't."

Bev took her hand. "Yes it is." 

Eddie took Bev's hand. "Yes."

Bill gripped Eddie's hand and nodded. "Y-y-y-yes."

Richie plopped down next to Willow and took her hand. "Lords, yes." 

Stan clamped his hands over his ears, rocking back in forth. "No,  
please, no. I can't..."

"Come on and tell grandpa Richie all about the bad, nasty clown.  
What'd he do to you? Honk your nose, spank you for saying a bad word?" 

"SHUT UP!!!"

Willow walked over to the trembling boy and wrapped him into her arms,  
gently shushing him. He hiccupped loudly as the last of his tears fell  
from his eyes. "It wasn't a clown..." he whispered.

"Jay seus and Johosaphates, look at this bloody mess, my saints be  
praised," a voice interrupted. "What the hell happened down here?" 

They looked up with a start at the cops looming nearby.

Chapter: Five  
  
Summer Of 1989  


Willow stood up to the elder Irish cop, her body showing bravery that  
she didn't feel. "I-it's my fault sir, I showed them how to do it."

The tall cop pushed his cap back on his head, scratching his bangs as  
he looked from the dam back to Willow. The muscular cop looked gravely  
at her, his lips thin and white.

"I-i-it w-w-w-was m-m-my i-i-idea...s-s-ir." 

Eddie walked up solemnly, triggering his inhaler before speaking. "Me  
too."

Bev nodded, throwing her arm around Willow's shoulder and giving her a  
sideways hug. "I'm in."

Stan sighed, and shrugged in surrender. "I guess I am too."

Officer Nell shook his head, muttering under his breath. He narrowed  
his eyes at Richie as he took a position on Willow's other side. He  
opened his mouth, but clenched it shut when the redhead elbowed him in  
the stomach, whispering softly. "Beep-beep, Oz."

Oz nodded to her. "I was in on it also."

"I see. So you're all 'Spartacus'." The senior cop scowled at them.  
"Anyone else here want to confess or shall we leave that for another  
time?" Officer Nell pursed his lips together and stared out over the   
flooded Barrens. "Do you realize what you've done, lass?" 

Willow kicked her foot against the ground. "Backed up the sewers?"

"Aye, lass. This here grey water is dirty water, and the brown...  
Well, let's just say that it's raw sewage." He eyed the group  
carefully. "And from the looks of things, I'd say you've been wading  
around in shit. Now, do yer parents know you play down here?"

"N-n-no, sir."

"I see. Well, I suppose I should tell them about this..."

"No, please."

Nell nodded to Bev in understanding. "But if ye take down that dam,   
then I'll simply report that there was another fallen tree and ye   
helped move it. However, if ye keep coming down here, promise me that  
ye'll come in groups. With that killer on the loose, it isn't safe."

"Yes sir, we promise," Willow said softly.

Richie entered the house with Bill, feeling excited and anxious. The  
house was strangely void of emotions, as though they were drained.

Bill took a quick glance around. "M-m-my p-p-parents s-s-should be  
gone a w-w-while."

Richie followed the taller boy upstairs to the closed room, eyeing the  
door like it led to hell. "Well, what're we waiting for, Big Bill?   
Let's go in."

"M-m-m-maybe w-w-we sh-sh-shouldn't."

Richie clapped his friend on the back. "Look, Billy, I know how you  
feel, but that clown might have something to do with all these  
killings. And if he's haunting Georgie's picture, then we need to  
know."

Bill swallowed and pushed the door open. Both boys stood inside the   
doorway, neither wanting to make the first move. The room that had  
once been so full of life, toys and books scattered around the hardwood  
floor, was now tidy and dust free, giving it a surreal effect.

"Is that it?" Richie pointed to the book in the corner, stained with  
blood

"Y-y-yeah, 'cept it w-was open be-before."

"That doesn't mean anything, it closed on its own. Lotsa books do it."  
Richie sat next to the book and opened it, flipping through each page   
slowly. Past aunts and uncles, birthday parties and... The pages   
abruptly became blank.

Curious, he flipped backwards. All the pictures were gone, leaving  
only one picture. A picture of downtown Derry in the 30's. He jerked  
his hand away at the brittle cold of the album. "Listen, Billie, I  
don't know what kind of crap you're trying to feed us, but there isn't  
any picture in here."

Bill took the album from him and started to flip through it himself.  
He stopped on the next page behind the single picture. It had one slip  
triangle to hold a picture. "I-i-i-it w-w-was h-h-h-here, s-s-see?"

Richie frowned at the blank place, barely able to make out a faded  
outline where a picture would've been.

He jumped back as the pages began to flip back and forth by themselves,  
stopping on the page with the single photo. He leaned forward  
excitedly to see the picture better. "Look, it's us."

Bill looked closely at the two boys in the picture, seeing that they  
could've been their twins. The figures began to walk towards the  
canal, ignoring the Plymouth, making a u-turn on the street. The Bill  
in the picture looked over his shoulder and whistled to a mutt dog that   
went running past them without a second glance.

The Richie in the picture grabbed Bill and dragged him towards the  
canal bridge.

"No, don't go there."

The two figures were halfway across it, when the clown popped over the  
side, his face now resembling Georgie. Blood dripped from his mouth,  
his teeth growing sharper and longer.

"NOOO!" Bill reached for the photo, his hand disappearing into it up  
to his fingertips.

Richie grabbed him and pulled him away, gaping at the now bloody  
fingers. Miniature paper cuts covering his four fingers in thick  
shifts. The album slammed shut in an angry motion. Bill wrenched away  
from him and grabbed the album back up.

"Bill, don't. We have no idea what else could happen. Do you want to  
get hurt?"

Bill ignored him, flipping through the pages, leaving bloody  
fingerprints behind. He pointed to the picture of the canal.  
"L-l-l-look." 

The two boys in the photo were gone, but under the bridge was a single  
balloon.

On Saturday, Richie found himself sitting in the balcony of the Aladdin  
Theatre, beside two red-haired women. Both of whom had spent most of  
the movie chancing lovesick looks at each other when the other was  
looking. Like always, Oz was clueless. 

Willow smiled happily as Bev laid her head on her shoulder and propped  
her legs up on the railing...knocking the enormous tube of  
extra-buttered popcorn over the edge.

All three of them leaned over and watched in horror as it landed upside  
down on Henry's head. Of all people to be sitting directly under  
them... 

The three bullies turned to look up at them, yelling curses that were  
drowned out by the vampire movie playing on the screen. 

"Red got one over. Now let's see if the Oz Man can match her?"

Both girls gulped as he picked up the jumbo-sized Cherry Dr. Pepper and  
held it out over the edge.

"Oz..." 

He tilted his hand and a long soda fall drenched the three males under  
them, sending them into loud rants of rage. Henry pointed up at them  
and made a run down the aisle with both his friends behind him.

"Now what?" Richie asked. 

Willow slapped him across the back of the head, and sighed. "Now we  
run like hell and pray that we get away alive!" 

They darted for the nearby stairs, flying down them and out the  
emergency exit. Willow slid to a stop in the alley and groaned. It  
was a dead end, and if they didn't high tail it, then...

"Well, if it isn't my future wife," she heard the hated voice.

'And here we go.' Willow gritted her teeth. "I'd die before I'd marry  
you."

"That can be arranged."

She rolled his eyes at him, unable to play nice with the moron. "By  
you? Ha! You're not even potty-trained yet."

Henry bellowed and charged her, his fist drawn back. She grinned  
evilly and lifted the metal lid off the trash can next to her. His  
fist bounced off it with a sickening TANG! He bent over to cradle the  
injured hand, and she kicked him in the butt, sending him face-first  
into the pavement. More angry than before, he started to get up, but  
she clocked him over the head with the same lid. He swayed for a moment  
before falling unconscious at her feet.

She turned to his two friends with a cocked eyebrow and mischievous  
grin. "Anyone else want to mess with me?"

Vic and Belch walked away with studied casualness, leaving their  
so-called 'leader' laying in trash.

Bev hugged her tightly, pecking her on the cheek with a deep blush. Oz  
laughed heartily and slapped her on the back. "Come on, Red, let's go  
get you some ice cream. My treat."

Chapter: Six

  
Summer Of 1989  


"Why are we here again?" Willow asked nervously from her place beside  
Bill.

"B-b-because I w-w-want t-t-to c-check u-under t-t-the p-p-p-porch."

Willow cocked her head at him, quietly studying the young boy. It had  
been five days since their run in with Henry at the Aladdin, and she'd   
thought she was going to spend a nice peaceful day down in the Barrens,  
but did she? No. Bill had to show up looking for Eddie, and when he  
couldn't find him, he'd latched onto her to help him with a mission.

Now, here they were standing in front of the house on Neibolt Street.  
"You won't find anything. The hobo's probably long gone."

"N-n-not i-i-i-if i-i-i-its t-t-the c-c-clown."

"And if it is the clown, then what?"

Bill clenched his jaw grimly. "T-t-t-then w-w-we k-k-kill i-i-it."

"How?" 

Bill pulled a pistol from the waistband of his jeans. "I-i-i-it's  
m-m-my D-d-dad's."

"What if it's some sort of monster? The picture and balloons...none of  
it's normal."

"T-t-then w-w-we'll f-f-find s-s-some o-o-o-other w-w-w-way."

Willow sighed as Bill started towards the house, and slowly followed  
him. She had a very bad feeling about this whole thing. The kind of  
feeling that you had when you knew you were facing your own death. She  
watched wearily as he climbed under the porch. They weren't going to  
just look, no matter how much Bill assured her.

"Here goes nothing." She got down and crawled under the smelly porch.  
Her hands crushed the splinters of wood and glass scattered across the   
entire area under the porch. "Um, somehow I get the idea that whatever  
did this isn't something we want to be messing with?"

Bill looked over his shoulder at her. "I-I-I'm s-s-scared t-too,  
b-b-but w-w-we h-h-h-have t-t-t-to d-d-do s-s-something."

"If I didn't believe that I wouldn't be here." She slipped in beside  
him to get a look at what used to be a window. The window frame was  
now mostly gone, and the walls on all sides were bent outward like it  
had been the victims of an explosion. "Let's go kill ourselves a   
clown."

Bill smiled grimly as he turned and lowered himself through the window.  
When he stood back some in the dark basement, she went through. Her  
Reeboks sneaker running shoes made soft crunches on the bits and pieces  
of coal.

Bill pulled the pistol from his belt, slinking carefully towards the  
far coal stale. Willow stayed right behind him, grabbing a thick   
broomstick as she passed. She pulled the heavy stick over her   
shoulder, launching herself around the stale with Bill...

Both relaxed slightly seeing that there was nothing but coal. "Well,   
that was productive..."

They both whirled around in fright as the tattered old wooden door at  
the top of the basement stairs flung open, slamming into the wall and  
causing layers of coal dust to fall on them. A deafening howl of rage  
splintered the room, loud bands occupying each haired paw that banged  
onto the stairs. They made out torn jeans on the furry thick legs,   
tighter than should be possible. She could make out the thick   
misshapen paws of the beast wearing a torn Derry High letterman jacket,  
black and orange. Silver eyes scowled at them over his snarling  
muzzle.

Bill fired the gun at it, the suffocating smell of gunpowder filling  
the basement as the bullet tore through the werewolf's head. It seemed  
to laugh at them as it continued towards them, unaffected.

She desperately scanned the room for a way out, the window they came  
through too high off the ground for them to reach. "Bill, the coals!  
Climb the coals!"

"W-w-what?"

Willow forcefully took the gun from him, ignoring the burn on her hand  
from touching the barrel. "Climb the coals and get the damned  
window open. NOW!!"

She spun on the surprised werewolf and took a mincing step forward.  
"You wanna mess with me? Huh? First you kill Bill's brother, then you  
go on some homicidal rampage, and now you're screwing with our heads!"

The werewolf growled low in its throat, making a noise somewhere  
between human speech and a rapid dog going berserk. But it didn't  
matter; she heard what it was saying clear as day. 'I'll kill you...'

She smirked darkly as it jerked its head down at the loud click of the   
hammer being drawn back. She raised the pistol up, the heaviness   
resting naturally in her hands. She knew it had been ineffective when  
Bill fired it, but that was because you couldn't hurt a werewolf with  
regular bullets. Everyone knew that. No, she thought in a flash, what  
you really needed was...

She fired the gun, watching a brighter missile streaking across the   
room, and taking dark pleasure in the squeal of pain the creature let  
out. "The joy of silver bullets," she said with a grin. "Light, fast,  
and they burn like hell." 

"C-c-c-come on!" Bill yelled at her.

She scrambled up the coal and dived headfirst out of the open window,   
rolling through the overgrown grass. She came up on her knees and held  
the gun in front of her, watching the window patiently. The sound of  
panting and coal falling alerted her.

Once more she drove the hammer back and fired as its head appeared in  
the window. "GO!!" she screamed, racing beside Bill towards his bike.

He jumped onto the ancient silver bike, three times his size, waiting  
until she'd leaped onto the long rack over the rear tire before pushing  
off. It wobbled dangerously as he gained speed, the bike cutting  
neatly through the street.

She chanced a look back and gulped back a scream at the enormous   
werebeast raced after them. "Faster!!"

Bill half stood, grunting in effort as he pedaled harder, turning  
sharply off the street. She gripped his waist harder, breathing a sigh  
of relief as the werewolf stopped at the corner like a dog at the end   
of its chain, turning to disappear back into the shadows. 

"H-h-how-how'd y-y-y-y-you d-d-d-d-" Bill's exertions as he pedaled,  
combined with his fear, were making him almost impossible to  
understand.

"Slow down," she told him, meaning both the bike and his speech. And  
preferably his heart rate.

He slowed, trying to breathe deeper. "H-h-how d-did y-y-you...d-d-do  
th-that?" he got out at last.

"Do what?"

"Th-the b-b-b-b-"

"Oh, the bullets?" Now that she had a second, that puzzled her, too.  
"I dunno, I just thought about silver bullets, you know, like when   
you're dreaming and you think of something you want, or someplace you'd  
like to be, and you've got it, or you're there. I didn't have time to  
think about it, or anything. Hey, maybe that means that if you try  
hard enough, you can affect It based on whatever shape it takes. Like  
if It uses your own fears to change into different things, then you can  
fight those shapes the same way you fight your own fear. Wow, that's  
useful to know, even if it does sound like a bad 'after school special'  
moral or something..."

Willow broke off, aware that she was babbling again. She'd just  
learned something valuable, now if only she knew more about It or what  
to do about It.

'I think it's time for some research.'

Beverly closed the bathroom door, leaning against it to try and get a  
grasp on her feelings. She loved her father, but she wished more than  
anything he wasn't so violent. He was usually fine when he was sober,  
but it was rare when he was. She couldn't wait until she could finally  
get away from him.

"Help me..." a faint voice whispered.

She slowly approached the sink, staring at the drain. "Hello, is  
someone there?" 

"Help me, Beverly..."

She shivered at the babylike voice, which sounded as though it had just  
started to learn to talk. A smell of death and sewers filled the room,  
making her stomach tighten. "W-who's there?" She leaned closer to the  
drain, listening for the voice again.

"Come down and play with me, Bevy. I want to meet you, we all want to  
meet you."

She jerked back. There was something moving down there. She nervously  
stared at the black hole, swearing she could see a clown down in there.  
Almost like looking in one of those long kaleidoscopes at a picture.

"Beverly, help me. It's so dark down here." The sobs of a baby echoed  
out of the drain.

"Who is this?"

The voice sniffled. "Matthew Clemens. The mean ol' clown came and got  
me, and brought me down here. He's going to come for you too, and  
Willow, and Bill, and Eddie..." The voice gradually turned into the   
Clown's. "...and Stan. And oh, do we float down here. Bevy, say  
hello to old Billy boy for Georgie. He's having a swell time. He  
practices his piano like a good boy, and one night when Bill is tucked  
into his nice warm bed, Georgie will be there to shove piano wire into  
his fucking eyes!!! Then I'll come after you and rip your head off  
your shoulders and stuff your body into the blender."

A dark red bubble poked out of the drain, growing bigger and bigger.  
She took an unsteady step back as it burst, splattering blood over  
everything, including her. 

"DADDDDDYYY!!!!"

The door burst open as the tall, sickly, thin man swaggered into the  
room, cold rage dripping from him. "What is it Bevy? What's  
happened?" 

She pointed to the sink. "Don't you see...?"

"See what? My god, girl, what the hell are you going on about? I was  
in the middle of my baseball game." He grabbed the sink examining it,  
his hands sliding over the slick blood.

He couldn't see it. He couldn't see the blood...

"I-i-it w-was a spider, daddy," she mumbled. "It must've gone back  
down the drain."

Her father lightly patted her cheek, and brushed his fingers through  
her hair. "I worry 'bout you sometimes, Bevy. I worry a lot." He  
left the bathroom. "Now you get on to bed, and don't give me no more  
trouble, you hear?" 

"Yes, daddy."

Chapter: Seven  
  
Summer Of 1989  


She tenderly placed the last book on the copier, then started it,  
absently glancing at her watch. She'd been in the small library for  
the last five hours, looking for any information on the Clown. She'd run  
across sentences mentioning a clown named Pennywise, and a couple of  
paragraphs here and there about a mysterious clown that would show up  
in Derry every thirty years. Nothing very solid.

But where the Derry history lacked, the books describing myths and  
legends were helpful. She'd found a lot of valuable information, and  
had finally figured out just what they were dealing with. It was all  
there, just waiting for someone to come along and figure it out,  
someone with an inquisitive mind and the sense to put it all together.  
The hacker's mind, in short.

The bad part was that if she was right, then they were in a lot more  
trouble than they'd originally though.

She grabbed the last of the copies and folded them into the black  
canvas shoulder army bag, dumping the stack of books on the nearby book  
cart. She walked through the library, trying to decide whether to risk  
the walk home so late at night, or to call her Uncle and hope that she  
survived the suicidal drive.

Shaking off the thought of her Uncle, she decided that she'd rather  
deal with the Clown again. She pushed her way out into the eight  
o'clock night and walked briskly down the sidewalk. Her long red hair  
was tied up in a braid, swinging back and forth.

"Willow..."

She glanced around for the owner of the voice, her eyes freezing on the  
image of herself standing at the corner. She knew it was the Clown  
from the silver eyes that blazed back at her. Black leather covered  
its body, the long red hair looking distinctly punkish.

"You're such a bad girl, Willow. Your thoughts are naughty, killing  
and sex. What would you parents think? Their daughter a fag, and we  
all know what happens to fags, don't we? They all go to hell."

The image of herself changed into her mother, silver eyes fading away.   
"Do you know what we've sacrificed for you? And this is how you repay  
us? You're nothing but a spawn of the devil. You need help, it's just  
not normal, not normal at all. I guess I'll just have to teach you a  
lesson."

Willow backed away from the steadily approaching figure of her mother.  
"You're not my mother, and what I do is none of your damned business."  
She gathered up her courage and turned to walk away.

A sharp burning pain engulfed her back.

She tried to run, but a claw grabbed her hair and yanked so hard that  
she fell flat onto her back. She stared up at the werewolf standing  
over her. Strands of her hair hung from his blood-soaked paws. A  
sticky, thick liquid soaked through the back of her shirt, reminding  
her of exactly what she'd gotten herself into.

Pushing away the fear that threatened to take over, she rolled away,  
coming up on her feet and ran. Her sneakers padded onto the pavement  
in soft thumping motions, her legs stretching out until her muscles  
ached with tension. She concentrated on her breathing, keeping it slow  
and steady.

Behind her, she could sense the creature keeping up with her, but not  
close enough to reach her. Pushing her limits once again, she sped up,  
her hands flat, the fingers tight together as she cut the through the  
air. The red umbros she'd decided to wear, in case she needed to get  
away fast, swooshed around her thighs.

She spotted Richie up ahead, whistling and waltzing down the sidewalk,  
less than a block from his house. She gritted her teeth and pushed her  
body as hard as it would go, opening up in a way she didn't know she  
was capable of. "RUN!!!" she screamed.

Richie's head snapped around, gaping at the werewolf.

She reached out and hooked her hand into his arm, spinning him around  
as she passed. Keeping a tight grip on his hand, she pulled him out of  
his fear.  
Together they ran into his yard and onto the porch, colliding with the  
front door and slamming it shut behind them.

The creature, like a bad dream, vanished as soon as it was out of  
sight.

Willow leaned back against the door trying to get her breath back.  
"What the hell were you doing out there?"

Richie glanced over at her with a nervous smirk. "Your face and my  
ass, Rosenburg."

"Beep Beep, Richie." She laughed and clapped him on his shoulder.  
"Can you do me a favor?" 

He cocked his eyes at her, confused but curious. "Whattya have in  
mind, my mistress?" He swept down in a bow, kissing the back of her  
hand in mockery.

In turn she pecked him on the cheek, and softly muttered, "You're about  
to find out."

She chuckled as he blushed deeply. 

Beverly scrubbed at the last spot of blood on the sink, feeling  
exhausted but better, no longer having to see the stains. She wrung  
out the sponge in the sink and turned to replace it in the side  
cabinet.

A deep, throaty chuckle filled the room.

She slowly pivoted around, and swallowed.

All the blood she'd spent hours cleaning up had reappeared. 

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"It's just that this is a major life change. You need to be sure." 

"I know what I'm doing."

"It might hurt?"

"Oz..."

"I'm just saying..." Richie gulped nervously under her gaze. "I'm not   
sure you're ready."

"If you don't do it right now..."

"Alright, alright, jeez. Look, close your eyes, and I'll try to make  
this quick and painless." 

Willow shut her eyes and nervously took a breath. She liked Richie,  
but allowing him to do this to her was...well, it was more intimate  
than she had planned to get with him. Blocking out her discomfort, she  
held still and tried to ignore what he was doing to her. It's nothing,  
she told herself. Women let men do this to them all the time...

"Okay, it's done." 

"That was quick," she said with some surprise. 

"Yeah, well..."

She opened her eyes and grinned broadly into the mirror. Her hair was  
now an inch over her jaw line.

She grabbed the scared boy and hugged him tightly, affectionately  
ruffling his hair. "You're a genius. Now I don't have to worry about  
anybody using my hair to yank me around." Plus, she had to admit, she  
looked damn good! 

Richie ducked his head slightly, turning a dark purple. "I-it's  
nothing."

"Oh relax, willya! It's not like I said you should open a salon and  
change your name to 'Mr. Ricky' or anything. Anyway, I should get home  
before my uncle actually notices that I'm missing."

"Maybe I should walk you..."

"It's only three houses over, I'm pretty sure I can make it by myself."  
She glared at him threateningly.

"Yes, mistress. Please accept my humble apologizes." He bowed deeply  
as though worshipping a queen. 

Sighing at his performance, she brushed past him. "I'll see you  
tomorrow, Oz."

He sighed dreamily at the closing front door, touching the cheek she'd  
kissed with light fingertips. "Tomorrow."

Beverly kept her arm hooked through Willow's, gripping her hand as the  
group followed her into the bathroom. She looked only at Willow, who  
was paling.

"It looks like someone was murdered in here," Willow whispered.

"Anyone you know, Red?" Richie asked on her other side.

"I-i-i-it w-w-was P-p-p-pennywise."

Everyone jumped as Eddie triggered his inhaler. "Sorry," he said.

"I don't know how I'll ever be able to come in here again."

Stan pressed through them, looking over the bathroom critically.  
"We'll help you clean it up. With all of us working it won't take  
long." 

"Yep, we'll just clean this right up, then we can go down to the  
Barrens, or we could go to a movie, or maybe we could..." Willow broke  
off, blushing at the adoring look Beverly was giving her. "Or maybe we  
should clean this up first and decide what to do later."

Beverly took one of the washcloths that Bill handed her and they began  
to scrub. 

Stan shifted his position on the bank of the Barrens, staring hard at  
the wide creek. "I saw it, but it wasn't a clown." 

The others sat in a loose semicircle around him, staying quiet, afraid  
that if they broke the silence he'd lose his nerve. Willow reached out  
and took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. 

He glanced up at her, managing a small smile, and began the story he'd  
balked at telling the first time. "It was over by the stand pipe in  
the park..."

"Whoa, you actually go over there?" Richie shivered, shaking his head   
solemnly. "That place is haunted."

Stan stared at him sharply. "Wait, what are you talking about?" 

"Don't you know anything? A number of kids drowned in there."

Stan began to hyperventilate, his skin turning sickly grey. Eddie  
reached over and jammed his inhaler into his mouth, triggering it.

Stan fell back, coughing and making retching noises. "What the hell  
was that?"

"My inhaler."

"How can you stand that stuff? It tastes like cold shit."

Richie cracked up. "You would know, wouldn't you, Stannie?"

"Fuck you, trash mouth."

"No thanks, I ain't no fag."

Willow glared over at them darkly. "What's wrong with being gay?" 

Richie flushed under her gaze and shifted uncomfortably. "N-nothing.  
I didn't mean it like that."

"Well, just don't use that word, okay? I don't like it." Willow still   
remembered the way the Clown's words had burned inside her. 

"W-w-what w-w-were y-y-you s-s-saying a-a-a-bout t-t-t-t-t-t-t-"

"The stand pipe," Eddie finished.

Richie nodded. "Right. Well, according to the old man, the stand pipe  
was used as the town's main source of water up until about a century  
ago. It holds two million gallons of water, and it has a gallery right  
below the roof where you can get one of the best views of the town.  
Families used to go up there on the weekends for picnics and family  
outings.

"Stairs wound around it between the outside of the pipe and the inner   
sleeve. The pipe was measured at a hundred and six feet tall, allowing  
people to see it from anywhere in the town. Below the roof is a wooden  
door leading to a railless small platform over the black water. The  
only lights in there are naked yellow bulbs in reflective hoods. The  
bottom is over a hundred feet deep. 

"Back before the 1930's, the wooden door was left unlocked. Then one  
night, a group of high schoolers found the ground floor door unlocked  
and went up on a dare. But when they opened the door they thought led  
to the gallery, they found themselves on the platform. It was too dark  
to see and they fell into the water. As the night went by, they  
struggled to stay above the water, screaming for help, and clawing at  
the slick steel walls. They even tried to reach the platform to pull   
themselves out, but it was just out of reach. Before morning had come,  
they had become too tired to tread water anymore. The next morning,  
the grounds keeper found their bodies."

Beverly swallowed back her tears and spoke. "They didn't close it off   
until later. This woman had gone out onto the platform with her baby  
and it squirmed out of her arms. Some guy dived in after him, but with  
all his clothes he was dragged under."

"What did you see there?" Willow asked quietly.

Stan wrapped his arms around himself. "I'm a bird watcher, it's my  
hobby. The same as collecting stamps or comics..."

It had been a thickly fogged rainy morning that previous April. The  
park was empty except for the joggers that came by every once in a  
while. Sometimes he'd see a couple or two walking their dog, or a  
straggler running through there as a short cut.

He loved to sit on one particular bench close to the canal. He could  
easily see the entire park from there, and some times he just loved to  
watch the canal water lazily running by. He'd use his binoculars to  
watch out for birds, making sure to keep his pocket-sized bird   
encyclopedia next to him, and a journal to keep track of sightings.

The old stand pipe stood nearby, breaking through the fog, the faded  
white paint glaring out. He had began to search for a new species of  
bird that he could enter into his journal. He wasn't sure how long  
he'd sat there, he was too concerned with keeping an eye on the large  
birdbath, but his clothes had become damp and heavy from the light  
drizzle and fog. 

He frowned deeply in concentration as a red and black bird landed on  
the bath. It folded its wings onto its sides and bent over to take a  
drink. He reached down for his bird album, a loud thunderous BANG shot  
through the park, startling the bird.

He scowled as it flew off and quickly shoved his stuff into his   
backpack. He slowly spun in a circle, looking for the person who'd  
dare disturb his hobby. He decided to go to his left, based on the  
sound and started to walk. Another thud broke through the fog and he  
picked up his pace.

He stopped a few yards from the pipe and stared in shock as he saw the  
ground level door swinging in the wind. The only problem was that  
there wasn't any wind.

His sense of duty over rode his fear. He couldn't just leave the door  
like that, anyone could wander in there, and who knew what could  
happen. As he walked up to the door and stuck his head in, the muffled  
sound of footsteps fluttered down the stairs to him.

"Hello? Is anyone in here?"

He stepped into the doorway and strained to see up the stairs. He   
jumped around as the door slammed shut on him. In a dazed panic, he  
grabbed the knob and tried in useless desperation to open it. No  
matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get the damned knob to move.

Above him, the slow weighty footsteps grew louder. He glanced up  
through the spiral stairs gaps and saw a bandage draping one through  
one of the gaps, then slowly pulled out and down onto the next step.  
His panic increased and he slammed his shoulder into the door again and  
again.

Tears streamed down his cheeks, and he pulled the bird album from his  
backpack, holding it up in front of him like a bible. He nervously  
gripped his left ear and started shouting out the names of birds.

The footsteps faltered, and a single blue balloon drifted down.

He screamed even louder, yelling out any species that came to mind.

He fell backwards as the door opened.

Losing no time he did the only thing he could think of. He ran.

  
Chapter: Eight

  
Summer Of 1989  


Willow stood slightly away from the other five, watching them absently  
from her own position under the gigantic tree. They'd come down into  
the Barrens after lunch hoping to talk, but the bright sun had been too  
much even for their young bodies.

She frowned softly as they waited quietly for Big Bill to tell them  
what to do.

This clown business had them all on edge and they were now looking for  
guidance from the one of them who had lost the most to the monster.  
Bill was standing with his back to them, staring off into the distance.

She wanted to tell them what she knew about Pennywise, but something  
inside her was saying that it wasn't time yet. So she waited, for  
what, she didn't know.

"W-w-w-we c-can't t-t-tell t-t-the p-police, o-o-or o-our p-p-parents,"  
he reasoned, as they listened patiently. "T-t-they're t-t-too  
o-o-o-old t-t-to u-un-understand." He looked over at them, trying to  
see if they understood what he was saying.

Willow nodded thoughtfully. "It's like Peter Pan. As you get older,  
your imagination shrinks, suddenly you don't believe in Santa Claus, or   
the Easter Bunny, or faeries anymore, and you can never go back to  
Never Never Land. Well, unless you want to be a stinky, mean ol'  
pirate."

"Ex-ex-xactly." 

Mike was from the only black family in Derry, and a small town whose  
mentality still lived in the early 50's wasn't a good place for them to  
live. For the most part, people in the town were at least polite, but  
then there were the Bowers. Mike's family lived in the farm next to  
the Bowers, a family that was crazy and violent - a bad combination,  
all in all.

Mike's father was blamed for any bad occurrence that happened to  
Bowers, and their animals had paid the price for most of it. They'd  
lost a number of chickens a while back, when Bowers killed them and  
left them on their doorstep as a 'present'. The sheriff had tried to  
get Bowers to pay for the damages he'd caused, but that had been  
futile, one man's word against another's, with no evidence of guilt.   
Instead, they'd had to turn to their insurance.

The worst blow had been a year earlier when they'd found their family  
dog dead. The vet said that Mr. Chips had been fed meat laced with   
insect poison. Mr. Patterson had assured Mike that his dog hadn't   
suffered, but when the vet had taken his father into the back, he'd  
overheard the truth. Mr. Chips had died a slow, painful death.

The worst of it was the tearful rage he'd felt towards Henry ever  
since. He had been after Mike ever since, probably trying to get his  
father's approval in some twisted way. Now was no exception. He had  
been heading home with his father's photo album, having gone to the  
library to try and find more history on each of the historical  
pictures. That's where his trouble had started.

As he was getting ready to leave he'd spotted the four boys that  
followed Henry. Vic, Belch, Moose, and Peter. All of whom were known  
for their tendency for violence.

"There's the nigger. Get him!!"

That was all the incentive that he needed, and before the muscular but  
slower boys had taken one step, he was off and running. He kept the  
thick album in his hands as he raced through the streets of Derry.

Mike knew from experience that the people in Derry had a talent for  
turning their eyes from anything that threatened to put them in the  
middle. He had no choice but to try to get back to the safety of his  
house, fast, which meant a short cut through the coal pit. He turned  
into the train yard, winded and tired. He knew he wouldn't last much   
longer, and he was still a good mile from home.

"I kn-know w-w-where t-t-the b-b-bastard l-lives." 

"The sewers," Beverly said from her spot next to Willow.

"I asked m-my f-f-father ab-bout th-them." 

"What'd he say, Big Bill?" Richie asked, plopping down on Willow's  
other side, winking at her.

"The c-c-canal h-h-holds t-t-the K-k-k..."

"Kenduxkeag?" Stan asked.

Bill nodded. "But i-i-it's a d-d-drain, for w-w-when it  
floods a-a-and during s-s-storms. The m-m-m-morlock   
h-holes d-d-down her a-are sump pumps t-t-that control t-t-the   
d-drainage.

"T-t-the m-main pipes a-a-are anywhere from s-s-ix f-f-feet  
t-to three feet in d-d-diameter. He s-s-said that w-w-when  
they put in th-the n-n-new system that t-t-they built  
it o-over t-t-the old ones. B-b-but the blueprints d-d-disappeared  
i-i-in n-nineteen thirty-s-seven, so they h-h-have n-no  
idea w-where any of t-t-them g-g-go."

Stan shook his head in his usual serious demeanor. "Man, one wrong   
turn down there and you could get lost for good. Probably end up   
wandering around down there in the dark until ya die of starvation or  
something." He glared at them, coming back to himself. "What makes  
you think it lives in the sewer, anyway?"

Willow sighed loudly, knowing it was now or never. "Because that's  
where everything goes back to in one way or another. Don't you see,  
when Bill's brother was killed, they found him halfway into the sewer  
drain on their street, the arm in the drain ripped clean off to his  
shoulder. The mummy Bev saw was standing on the canal, the one Stan  
saw was at the stand pipe, which is also connected to the sewers and  
close to the canal. The werewolf that Oz saw was in the basement where  
all the plumbing is. Even the werewolf that was after me and Oz the  
other night was across from here where all the pump stations are." 

"Wait. What were you doing out at night?" Beverly asked sharply.

"I was doing research on our friend." 

Bill leaned forward with a triumphant sparkle in his eyes. "A-a-and?"

"It's a Glamour. At least that's the Gaelic name for it. What we're  
dealing with is well known throughout several cultures and countries.  
Different names and ideas, but the facts are the same. It was known to  
have evil magic. It would read the victim's mind to find out what he  
or she was most afraid of and assume that shape. However, he also had  
a main form which he took most often."

"Like a default shape?"

She nodded at Bev. "Right. In the ancient societies that believed in  
gods taking shapes of animals, he would pick an animal and use it's  
shape. Like the Trickster from old Indian myths. There were even  
stories of it possessing grownups that were too naive to believe  
anymore. It was the originator of the vampire and were-beast myths."

"H-h-how d-d-do w-w-we k-k-kill it?"

Willow slumped back and glared up at the bright sky. "One of the  
websites I found was documenting the life a shaman from the Navaho  
tribe. During his lifetime, his tribe was the target of a Glamour. He  
was a boy at the time, 11 years old. Him and six others his age had to  
find their way before they were able to destroy it."

"H-how?" 

"They went on a vision quest, but in the end they used an ancient  
ritual. The Chud."

"W-w-what do w-we n-n-need t-t-to d-d-do?"

"One of us has to bite its tongue while it's biting ours, and then you  
tell jokes until one of you lets go." Willow's brow furrowed in  
concentration. "At least that's what I think the translation says." 

"EEWWW!!" Richie jumped up and hopped around making spitting noises.  
"I do NOT want any monster spit in my mouth! And do you realize what  
would happen if you stuck your tongue down it's throat?" Oz glared at  
her with concern. "With those teeth it would bite your tongue off,  
then what would you do."

"W-w-what h-happens i-if y-you l-l-lose?"

"Then the Glamour gets to eat your soul," Willow said calmly.

Oz puffed out his chest and planted his fists on his waist. "This  
sounds like a job for...The Trash Mouth!" His voice sounded like the  
announcer on an old Superman series. "The Man of Two Thousand Jokes  
and Pranks! But I only work from three to four."

"Oz, sweetie, if we send you down there, you'll get us all killed."   
Willow made a face. "A loooooong, torturous, painful death." 

The others laughed at the pout on Oz's face, but Willow took note of  
the flush on his face. She couldn't help it, it seemed like every time  
she hugged him, or gave him a peck, or even just referred to him by  
cute little nicknames, that he would blush a deep red from his neck to  
his ears and become shy. "Hey, don't you have some firecrackers?" she  
added, taking pity on him.

Oz grinned at her, forgetting his embarrassment. "Yeah. Come on,  
let's go up to the old coal pits and shoot them off." 

Willow let him and Bevy to help her up, and fell back in between them.

She glanced around with a frown as she felt an unpleasant tingling  
sensation in her mind. The only other times she'd felt it was when she  
had a run in with Pennywise... She slowed down and scanned the  
Barrens.

"Hey, are you coming?" Oz asked.

She started to nod, but stopped as she noticed the morlock hole fifty  
yards down. The lid was pushed up and she could see two yellow eyes  
staring at them. The thing that unnerved her was that there was two  
feet between the eyes. 'My god, just how large is the damned thing?'

She ran to catch up with the others, but she kept her eyes on the pump  
until it was out of sight.

Mike made it to Neibolt Street and sped up. He couldn't understand  
what the hell was going on. Yes, Henry and the others hated him. Yes,  
they had on occasion taken a few swings at him. But usually by now  
they would've given up the chase. It was like something was driving  
them to catch him.

He flew towards the ten-foot-tall metal fence blocking off the coal  
pits, and threw the album on the ground so that it slid under the  
fence. He leaped up as high as he could and began to climb up. He  
gripped the thick metal pole at the top, and rolled over it, landing on  
his feet on the other side. He gritted his teeth against the sharp   
aching in his ankles and grabbed his book, taking off in a slow sprint.  
It was all his tired body was capable of.

He missed the slope into the deep pit, and found himself in a painful   
roll. The coal darkened his skin and clothes, scraping at his exposed  
skin. He struggled onto his knees and looked up at the other side, the  
way he needed to go.

Six shadows were standing there, side by side, facing Henry and his  
friends as they slid down into the pit after him.

"Help me... Please..." He scrambled up the side, too weak to scream as   
someone grabbed his hand and hauled him up.

Bev smiled kindly at him. "Get behind us."

Stan grabbed his other arm and helped him the rest of the way up.  
Together they all turned back to face Bowers and the others at the  
bottom of the pit.

Henry glared up at them coldly. "We're only after the nigger. You  
stay out of this, and we'll let you walk away. At least for today."

His groupies laughed, as Vic spoke up. "Yeah, we want to see how a  
nigger dances with a couple Black Cats in his shoes."

Bill stepped protectively in front of Mike. "N-n-no. T-t-there are  
s-s-six o-of us a-a-and o-o-only f-f-five o-o-of y-y-you."

Mike threw his album a few feet away, where it'd be out of the way.   
"Seven."

Everyone looked at him solemnly, feeling complete all of a sudden.  
Willow smiled darkly at Henry. "If you walk away now, then maybe we  
won't have to put you in the hospital."

Henry racked his eyes over her body and snorted. "Damn, bitch, why'd  
you cut your hair? It was sexier long."

Willow laughed. "Exactly, pig fucker." She pulled her arm back and  
bulleted the large chunk of rock, hitting Henry in the left shoulder,  
sending him reeling back a few steps. Beside her, Richie let out a  
loud sow's squeal, letting lose his own rock.

In seconds the two groups were in an all-out rock fight. Rocks hit the  
seven in their arms, legs, knees, and shoulders, but they didn't  
notice, too intent on a battle. It didn't feel like they were fighting  
a town bully, but like they were battling the Glamour.

Willow's daze was broken by the tear-filled cry of pain from Beverly,  
and she stormed silently in a blinding rage at the fist-sized rock that  
hit Bev in the arm, drawing a long thick line of blood, dripping down   
her arm to the gravel.

She spun around letting lose a bellow, freezing everyone mid-throw.  
Without regard to her own safety, she charged down the slope towards  
Henry like a ticked-off defensive linebacker, ignoring the numerous  
rocks being thrown directly at her. They bounced off, unnoticed, as  
she leaped two feet from Henry, tackling him around the waist to the   
gravel floor.

The painful whimper that escaped his lips as the coal and gravel dug  
into his back reinforced her rage, and soon she was on him, punching  
him in the face over and over again. She felt hands on her arms trying  
to pull her off, but she struck out, sending the grabbers falling back  
out of range, only to go back to hitting a now bruised, bloody Henry.  
Her fist connected with his nose in a sickening crack that caused a  
joyful voice in her head to celebrate.

She felt punches connecting with her chest and face, but was too  
engulfed to notice. She saw the swings Henry threw in futile hope, but  
she knew nothing else. Blood ran down her face, dripping onto him; dim  
thoughts recognized it as her own, but she didn't care. He'd messed  
with Bev, and he was going to pay.

"Willow...!"

Oz clamped a hand on her elbow, stopping her mid-punch. "Hey, it's   
over. We won."

Willow blinked up at him, her rage still demanding justice. Bev  
kneeled down beside her and smiled, giving her a quick peek on the  
cheek. "Thank you." 

The rage melted away, and she allowed Bev and Oz to lift her off the  
badly beaten Henry. She laughed through the tears now running down her  
cheek. Scrawny little Willow had done that without any help.

"Come on, let's go." Bev gently led her away from the scene, with Oz  
strutting protectively on her other side.

"It's a good thing you got to him before me," he declared loudly. "I  
would've killed the son of a bitch." Everyone giggled as he weakly  
punched his left hand and shook his right out in pain. "Okay, so I  
would've noogied him to death. You go with what works."

Willow leaned onto them, feeling the pain she was in. It was more than  
the beating and pelting she'd taken, it was the recognition that Mike's   
addition to their little group meant that matters were drawing to a  
head.

She'd mentioned that the boy from the Navajo tribe had six others with  
him, but hadn't really stated that seven was the required number for  
such rituals. For a while, the fact that the Losers' Club had only six  
members had been a comfort to her, as it meant they didn't have to go  
through the ritual just yet.

But this was it, all of them were here, which meant time was running  
out.

Chapter: Nine

  
Summer Of 1989  


Willow squinted at the ground, eyeing the pegged strings she'd  
stretched out to outline the underground clubhouse she was going to  
build. On the outside she'd suggested it in case they needed to hide.  
All they had to do was glue leaves and grass and shrubbery onto the top  
and no one would ever know the difference. But inside, she realized,  
it was for a different purpose.

When they were ready, when things had finally reached the climax, they   
were going to have to use it as a smoke hut. The vision quest was   
their only real hope of getting positive answers, or to at least direct  
them in the right direction. Right now they were scattered   
chaotically, with no real path to follow.

Under the Godzilla-sized tree that was their shade, she could hear  
Richie babbling in his 'southern hick' voice. Bill was ignoring him,   
watching the clouds go by. Beverly was sitting against the tree,   
watching her work. Stan and Eddie were reading some old comics that  
Stan had brought down.

She picked up the measuring tape and remeasured the diameter.  
Satisfied that it was small, but would hold the seven of them  
comfortably, she picked up the shovel. Richie was beside her in an  
instant, picking up another shovel and helping her dig.

Soon all of them were pitching in, digging where she directed. She  
followed behind them taking her shovel and evening out the sides of the  
square. Constantly taking her measuring tape and walking around  
mumbling to herself. Within the hour she'd called a hold, double- and  
triple-checking the measurements.

Her brow was furrowed, her tongue sticking out of the corner of her  
mouth as she squinted up at the sun. After a long moment, she muttered  
under her breath and nodded once. "That's it."

Bill grinned widely and whooped excitedly. Every inch of  
accomplishment they made was exciting, reinvigorating all of them.

They glanced over wearily as they heard someone approaching. The lean  
figure burst out of the bushes and dropped a picture album to the  
ground under the tree. 

"Hey, Mikey." Richie grinned widely. "What are you standing there  
for? Get over here and give us a hand." 

Mike relaxed and returned the grin. "What do I do?" 

Richie cocked his head at Willow, a tinge of red coloring his ears.  
"What do we do, mistress?"

She snorted at the laughing group, and sauntered over to Oz, running  
her fingertips through his spiky red hair. Her left arm draped loosely   
around his shoulder. "If you're a good boy, maybe I'll tell you."

Wolf whistles and yips of laughter broke her carefully controlled face.  
She grinned widely, enjoying her ability to make him blush so easily,  
and threw a couple of boards down to Stan. "Let's get the floor  
built."

They fell into an easy rhythm; boards were placed, hardware fastened   
tightly on them, directions called out with confidence. The boys had  
long since shed their shirts, sweat dripping from their summer-tanned  
chests.

Willow gritted her teeth as they put the last of the thick boards on  
for the roof, staring at it wearily she walked onto it, bouncing on her  
feet to test the strength of them. The others had backed away to give  
her space, waiting for her go ahead.

The wood was solid under her feet, but still she walked over every inch  
of it, searching for any sign of weakness. There were none. She  
turned to the trap door leading into the pit, and cautiously stepped  
onto it. The wood held under her, no give at all.

She finally looked up at them and smiled. "We did it."

Richie did a jig around the group, scooping Willow up and swinging her  
sweat-soaked body around as he passed her. She squeaked indignantly as  
he squeezed her in a death grip, and he buried his nose in her hair.  
'Okay, this is weird.'

He sat her back down and danced her around the clubhouse, humming  
loudly and sourly. She threw her head back and laughed, winking over  
at Beverly as she glared jealously at Oz. Beverly grinned sheepishly  
back at her.

She managed to pry away from Oz, and used her arm to pull his head down   
playfully. "So now what?"

Bill became deathly serious, sneaking a look at Mike. The group's  
cheer gave way to a maturity that they shouldn't have known at such a  
young age. They sat down under the tree as Stan caught Mike up.  
Telling him about Pennywise, and the murders.

Mike looked up from the ground when Stan was finished and nodded in  
acknowledgement. "I saw him twice, once on the fourth of July and the  
other...he was a bird."

His father was a man of history. When they'd moved to Derry, he'd  
started to collect old photos of the town, reading up on the history,  
getting copies of old newspaper clips of stories that especially struck  
him. Putting them all neatly and lovingly into a large photo album.

One of the stories he was most interested in was the old ironworks  
plant. On Easter Sunday of 1890, they held an Easter egg hunt for all  
the children in Derry. After the year of murders and disappearances  
they had hoped it would be good for the town.

For the hunt inside the gigantic plant, they'd taken the precautions of  
putting up barriers on all the dangerous areas, putting employees at  
each one to make sure that no one that tried to get in anyway. The  
plant was filled with over five hundred boys and girls, all looking for   
the candy-filled eggs. Mothers and fathers trailed after them,   
gossiping and laughing.

An hour into the hunt something went wrong, blowing up the plant and  
everyone in it. Twisted metal and shrapnel shot out over the town.  
Blood and pieces of bodies sprayed into back yards, onto houses, and  
the head of a young boy landed in the front passenger seat of a  
convertible driving by.

For hours, rescue workers shifted through the rubble, searching  
desperately trying to find some sign of life. They found themselves  
working from late morning well into the night, and they'd only sorted  
through a fourth of the demolished building. Any hope of survivors had  
died long before they'd called it quits for the night. Body parts  
strewn in bloody messes, they were having trouble finding any bodies  
that were still in one piece.

In the end they recovered all the bodies, except for eight children and  
one adult.

Eddie shivered. "My mother told me about that. The explosion wiped  
out half the town."

Mike had found a note one morning from his father. He'd done all his  
chores, and his father had to go to town for some meeting. His dad had  
suggested that he ride over to the ironworks, and chose a souvenir.  
The excitement of exploring the old ruins was enough to make the  
mile-long trip seem longer, but when he finally got there he changed  
his mind.

The enormous spread of dirt and rubble went back farther than he could   
see. The land was eerily silent and gave the impression of being   
haunted. Wind danced through the metal and pipes, creating a thick  
whistling to pierce through the quiet.

He stepped carefully around splintered drawers from old desks; legs  
from chairs lay split in two sticking out of the ground. Metal twisted  
in spirals that shouldn't have been possible, burnt and charred,   
sharpened into a razor-edged point. Pipes stuck out of the ground at  
slants, cracked, and one pipe about sixty feet long and four feet in  
diameter laid on its side, the bottom end sticking our of the side of a  
hill. Tiles were scattered around in slivers and cracks.

Mike swallowed back his fear, feeling the presence of the dead around  
him. He leaned over and picked up a gauge, stuffing it into his  
pocket. He'd found a souvenir, now he wanted to get the hell out of  
there.

An inhuman squawk came from behind him.

Instinctively he ducked to the ground. Then, when nothing appeared, he  
quickly got back to his feet and ran, hard. 

Behind him, the orange-chested robin the size of a horse trailer soared  
towards him, its claws extended.

Mike sped up and dived towards the pipe as claws ripped into his shirt.  
He screamed out from clenched teeth as he slid into the pipe, then   
scrambled deeper into it over broken tile.

Getting to his knees, he turned back to the entrance, staring at the  
beak that was stuck in the hole, snapping at him. The bird's tongue was  
black, with an orange pom-pom on it. He backed away until he hit the  
dirt keeping him about four feet from the bird's snapping beak.

In the dark, he reached around him for something to use, and his hand   
scraped across a sharp edge of tile. His instinct was to jerk away,  
but he latched onto it, pulling his hand back and throwing it. The  
sharp edge flew into its mouth, slicing the tongue until black blood  
poured out.

It screeched, hurting his ears inside the pipe. Again he reached for a  
piece of tile, grabbing a handful of them this time. He threw them one  
after another, hitting the bird's mouth, part of its head, and with the  
last tile, its eye. The eyeball popped in a sickening squash that made   
the bird reel back.

He grabbed more tile and waited for it to come back. He had no idea  
how long he sat there waiting, but by the time he'd gotten home, five  
hours had passed.

Willow asked quietly, "What about the other time?"

"It happened during the July fourth parade, I'm in the school band.   
While we were marching through downtown, I saw him. He was standing on  
the corner in this silver suit with orange pom-poms, and his makeup  
was..." He shivered. "He was handing out balloons to all these babies  
and little kids, except they  
were bawling like they were scared.

"Then, when we went around the next block, I saw him again. I thought  
it was a different guy, but he looked exactly the same. Then as we  
passed, he looked up, right at me. He blinked and his teeth seemed to  
grow into two-inch long, razor-sharp fangs. He gave me the finger." 

"I don't get it." Stan glared harshly at them. "If this clown is the  
killer, than why the hell doesn't he just kill us? Why would he spend  
so much time trying to scare us?" 

Willow shook her head in frustration. "Don't you get it? Every time a  
Glamour has been around, seven children who were chosen battled it.  
Those seven were the only ones that could kill it. We are those  
seven."

Stan paled, his face a bright white, and shook his head rapidly. "No,  
I won't do it. I won't. I can't."

Willow sharply cut him off. "It knows. It knows who we are, it knows  
we can kill it, and it's scared. Which means we're going to have to  
act soon. Now, shut up and sit there, unless you have something  
productive to say!" 

Stan stared at her, stunned, and nodded. "Yeah, all right."

Willow sighed, wondering how the hell were they going to pull this one  
off?

"I-I-I w-w-was thinking."

Willow glanced over at Oz for some clue as to what Bill was talking  
about, but he simply shrugged. They had gone decided to go over to the  
park and look around. The others had already left for home, so it was   
just the three of them.

"W-w-when y-y-you s-s-shot i-i-it i-i-in w-w-were-w-wolf f-f-form  
a-a-and s-s-said t-t-they w-w-were s-s-silver..."

"Bullets, it screamed out in pain," she finished, catching onto the  
idea. "But where are we going to get any? We can't walk into a store  
and buy any."

Bill grinned a shit-eating grin and slapped her on the back.  
"Y-y-you'll m-m-make t-t-them."

Willow stopped staring at the two boys in shock. "You're kidding,   
right?" she burst out. "What do I look like, the Lone Ranger? Hey, I  
want to help, and I'm a really smart girl and all, but making bullets  
is a little beyond me! I mean, that involves ballistics and armoring  
and metallurgy and all kindsa things don't anything about!" She  
snorted. Even if she got it slightly wrong, they might not fire...or  
worse, they might blow up in the hand of whoever tried to shoot them.

Hell no, as Stan would say. Uh-uh, no way in hell. Too dangerous.  
Hell would freeze over first, pigs would fly, mules would...

"L-l-looks g-good, K-k-kemo-s-sabe," Bill said, admiring her handiwork.

She glared up at Bill as she opened the first mold. The silver ball  
bearing rolled out onto the table. They'd all agreed that making  
silver bullets wasn't going to happen, and in their minds silver ball  
bearings were the second best thing.

Tossing the light silver ball over to Bill, watching amusedly as he  
bounced it from hand to hand trying to catch it, she asked smugly, "So  
now what, Big Bill?" 

"N-n-now, w-w-we k-k-k-kill t-t-the s-s-son of a b-b-bitch."

Chapter: Ten

  
Summer Of 1989  


It had been a month since they'd built the underground club house, and  
two weeks since they'd made the silver balls. Last week they'd each  
taken a turn with Bill's slingshot, and Bev had been the only one to  
hit all ten targets. They'd all agreed that it would be best to wait a  
while before going after It.

They were doing their best to relax and regroup, and it seemed that   
Pennywise was doing the same. He'd appeared to them once or twice more  
during the three weeks, but for the most part there seemed to be a  
temporary truce between them.

On some level, though, Willow could sense the up coming weeks were  
going to be worse than ever. An out-and-out battle between them, to  
the death. The thought wasn't comforting, and she'd spent the last few   
nights writing notes to Jesse and Xander. If she didn't make it, then  
she wanted them to know it wasn't their fault.

When she'd left for the summer, both boys had been panicked. Xander  
had come running over from the library with Jesse in tow, waving a  
Maine newspaper under her nose, screaming, "I won't let you go! Do you   
know that there's some crazy running around in Derry killing off the  
kids? It's been over a year and they still haven't caught the sicko!"

When she'd refused to listen to him, he and Jesse had shared a nod.  
Jesse had thrown her over his shoulder and they ran out of the house  
with her, taking her to their semi-secret 'hideout' and tying her up.  
Both boys had sat there, apologizing profusely, explaining that they  
loved her too much to sit by while she got killed. Of course, an hour  
later, Cordy had burst in on them with their parents in tow. The  
aftermath had NOT been pretty.

Mike sat down in the middle of the group, opening his father's album.  
"I found a picture of Pennywise in here." He held the album spread in  
his lap so that they could see.

The picture was an old, thin piece of wood, carved in the image of the  
town. It was standing in the middle of the dirt street where the  
downtown area was now located; the canal was behind him, but that was  
the only thing they could recognize. "My father says it's over two  
hundred years old." He turned to another page, showing a black and  
white picture from 1856 that had been colored in for a cartoonish  
feeling. Again, it showed Pennywise in the background.

"H-h-how o-o-old i-i-is h-h-he?"

Mike looked over at him. "A lot older than two hundred. I was looking  
through the history my father has found out, and there's a cycle.  
Every 28-30 years, there are a serious of murders and disappearances of  
children. Followed by a catastrophe, ending the cycle. It goes back  
as far as the first settlers."

The smell of yeast and popcorn filled their noses. In the distance  
they could hear laughter and music; as one they looked at the picture.  
The political parade was walking away, disappearing around the corner  
with the crowd following. Willow thought that Pennywise was going to  
follow, but he turned around, the makeup that looked like skin glaring  
horribly in the picture.

He ran at them, climbing up the old street lamp, and reaching out, the  
plastic over the picture stretching as a human-sized hand pushed out  
against it. "I'm going to kill you all. I'm going to rip you apart  
piece by piece while you're still alive, and make you drink your own  
fucking blood, then I'll pop your eyeballs out and..."

Mike shrieked and shut the album, throwing it away.

"It's scared of us," Willow said, more sure than she was before. "It's   
scared, and it wants us to be scared, too."

Stan stared at the album, shaking. "Well, it worked. I'm petrified." 

"Beep beep, Stan, beep beep," she muttered. 

Bill and Richie walked over the place they thought the clubhouse was  
supposed to be, but no matter how hard they tried they just couldn't be  
sure. 'Damn, Willow did too good a job of camouflage.'

They stopped and raised their eyebrows at each other as they heard soft  
giggles coming from below their feet. Bill raised his hands and jumped  
over to the trap door.

"It's 'em redskins. They's been-a scalping mah dog again. They must  
die." Richie spoke in a thick southern accent, spitting out an  
invisible black string of spit from a plug of tobacco. "Come out with  
yer hands up, or's I'll shoot ya."

A deep voice yelled out at them, "Never, ya white-skinned murderer!"

"If ya's ain't out by the time I count ta three I'll shoot." Richie   
stomped around on the roof. "One...three! Ya time's up, ya primitive  
beasts!"

He smirked at the sigh he heard below. Beverly muttered just loud  
enough for him to hear, "You better let Tweeledum and Tweedledee in  
before they make this whole thing collapse."

The trap door popped open and green eyes glared out at them. Bill  
jumped down, and snickered at what he found. Willow and Beverly were  
the only ones here, but they were sitting next to each other. Their  
faces were flushed, their lips swollen, and their clothes seemed to be  
crooked. Something had been going on down here...

Richie dropped down next to him and immediately plopped down on  
Willow's other side, shooting a disapproving glare at Bev, or at least  
he tried to make it disapproving. It seemed more jealous than  
anything. 

Willow smiled over at him and pecked his forehead, calming the young  
boy down. "I was thinking, we should use this as a steam hut."

"You mean like that vision quest you were talking about?" Richie asked.

"If we plan on going after It, then we need to explore every  
possibility." 

"I-I-I a-a-gr-ree."

The others nodded. When Big Bill said something you listened. He was  
the leader, the one that made the finally choice, and could veto any  
idea. If he agreed with her idea, then they were going to do it.

"W-w-what d-d-do w-w-we d-d-do?"

"Richie, you get a number of big rocks." She drew an invisible circle  
in the middle of the floor. "Make an outline of a circle with them,  
then fill it in. The rest of us will gather all the green wood we can  
find. Pile it up in the corner. The others should be getting back  
from lunch soon, so we'd better get started."

By the time the others had arrived they had everything set up. The  
only thing they had left to do was light the fire. 

Bill stopped Willow and Bevy before they could drop into the clubhouse.  
"Y-y-you t-t-two s-s-should s-s-stay u-u-up h-h-h-here."

Willow narrowed her eyes at Bill and scanned the others, until they had  
dropped their heads. "And just who the hell is going to stop us, Big  
Bill?" The sarcasm dripped around his name, making him flinch under  
her scrutiny.

"W-w-we n-need t-to have s-s-someone u-up here, j-j-just in c-c-case."

"Fine, then you can stay and we'll go." She tried to move past him,  
but he grabbed her arm. "Look, either you let me go down, female or   
not..."

Again, he flinched in guilt.

"...or I'll leave. And if I leave..." She stabbed her finger into his   
chest backing him up. "...then I won't be coming back." 

"Um, y'know," Stan said from behind Bill, "Willow's the one who knows  
about this stuff. She'd probably be more help down here than pulling  
guard duty."

"W-w-w-willow..." Bill was considering Stan's point, but he didn't  
like his decisions being contradicted.

"I've got an idea." They turned to an angry Beverly, who was glaring  
at the guys. "We'll drew matches, and the one who gets the one with a  
burnt head stays up here." When everyone nodded agreement, she turned   
her back.

Willow glared harshly at Oz as he ducked his head.

"Draw."

One by one they drew, and one by one they held up unlit matches.  
Willow saddened as Beverly held the last match. Carefully she  
unclenched her fist, and held up the last match, unburned.

"You tricked us!!" 

"What the hell are you trying to do, Bev?"

"I did light it. See?" She held up her hand so they could see the ash  
covering the spot where the match had been pressed. A wind chilled  
them, with the feeling that this was beyond their control. Someone  
wanted all of them down there.

"C-c-come on," Bill said impatiently. "W-w-we're w-w-wasting   
t-t-t-time."

Willow leaned her head against Oz's shoulder and breathed deeply. The  
small beam of light coming from the five-by-five-inch square was above  
the smoky fire. The clubhouse was filled with thick, stinging smoke,  
scraping her throat and lungs. Beverly had left already, along with  
Eddie and Stan. The smoke seemed to be causing her eyes to play tricks  
on her, because it felt like the room was getting bigger.

She hooked her arm through Oz's and held tight, as the fire moved  
father away. She could feel the effects of the smoke taking effect.  
She waited for the moment she knew was coming.

A blinding light shot through the dark, bringing her back to reality.

The trap door slammed back shut as Bill and Mike climbed out in  
coughing fits. She could hear the sound of someone retching above.  
Closing her eyes, she snuggled her head into Oz's neck, enjoying the  
presence of him beside her. 

She felt a shift in the room and opened her eyes, gasping at what she  
saw. "What the...?"

She kept a tight grip on Oz's arm as they stood in a living room of  
some house. She could see an older version of herself sitting close to  
a blonde girl looking tired and worn. On her other side was an older   
version of Oz, wearing goth-style clothes, his hair bleached. Looking  
the same way she did.

Xander was seated in one of the chairs, with a blonde curled up in his  
lap. A bleached blonde with an English accent was by the window,  
looking slightly scared. In a chair in front of them was an older man  
who bore the air of a librarian.

"...records say that this Glamour was around during the age of  
dinosaurs. It was asexual and spawned a number of children that spread  
out around the world, creating all the different myths and legends.  
According the Watcher's diaries I've read, only the Chosen Seven can  
kill it, even then they must perform an ancient ritual...it's, uh..."  
He began to flip through a book, muttering quietly.

"How do we find these seven, and am I one of them?" The blonde next to   
herself asked.

The older version of herself sighed in surrender. "It's the ritual  
Chud, and no, you aren't one of the seven. In fact, there's nothing  
you can do it this case." 

Everyone stared at her as she rubbed her eyes tiredly. The librarian  
cleared his throat. "And how, may I ask, do you know all this?"

"Because me and Oz are two of the chosen, and we've battled this thing  
before," said the older Willow. "I thought we'd killed it. That's how  
we knew each other before he moved here."

Willow closed her eyes and began to retch...

She opened her eyes as Bev called to her, rolled onto her back,  
coughing, and reached over to grab Oz's hand. They looked into each  
other's eyes with understanding. Their future depended on what  
happened next.

Chapter: Eleven

  
Summer Of 1989  


Eddie took the new inhaler out of the prescription bag and tossed it  
into the nearby trashcan. He tucked it into his back pocket, and  
started to head down the street.

The stray voice of his mother entered his mind. 'Eddie, what are you  
doing? Eddie, how many have I told you, always get a receipt, and a  
good boy always does what he's told, doesn't he?'

He turned back and entered the drug store, waving absently at the young  
girl behind the register, and leaned against the counter to peer into  
the back, trying to catch Mr. Keene. Spotting the man through the   
cracked office door, he walked around the counter, willing to face the  
man's wrath.

"...poor Eddie, if it wasn't for his damned mother he'd be fine."

"What do you mean, dad?"

"His mother is crazy, always forcing the idea of being sickly on him.  
There's not a thing wrong with that boy, at least nothing some time in  
the sun and a little exercise wouldn't cure."

"Surely it isn't that bad?"

"If that boy even bumps his shoulder, she rushes him to the emergency  
room, insisting that his arm's broken..."

He backed away shaking his head. It wasn't true, it couldn't be true.  
His mother wouldn't do that to him, would she?

He bolted out of the store, running headlong into someone; landing on  
his butt, he looked up and started to scream. 

A large hand shot out, punching him in the jaw, he rolled onto his  
stomach and tried to get to his knees, but Henry was on him, slamming  
him down onto the sidewalk. His arm making a loud sickingly snap was  
the last thing he heard before he blacked out...

'Damn my uncle, why do all the members in my family have to be  
obsessively religious, physically and emotionally abusive bastards?'  
She sped up her pace, tucking the paper bag of liquor into her black  
canvas army bag. She'd been through this procedure enough to know what  
to do. Her father was the same, get stinking drunk every Friday night,  
Saturday, and Sunday. Unfortunately, he sometimes forgot to restock,  
which meant her running to the local store, where her father's close  
friend was manager, to get his alcohol. Her uncle was the same.

Instead of being bothered with letting her observe curfew, he sent her  
out in the middle of the night to run his errand.

"Look what we have here, Barn? Dinner."

"As long as it's fresh."

She sighed at the two men who stepped in front of her, noting the  
ridges on their foreheads, yellow eyes and fangs. "I don't have time   
for this." She walked between them without any reaction. Somehow,  
after having to put up with Pennywise in the last two months she just  
couldn't bring herself to be scared or even surprised by a couple of  
vampires.

"Hey, don't you know who we are?" one of them called, indignant at  
being ignored.

She glanced over at them, smirking. "A couple of vampish James Dean,  
Freddy Krugger wannabes?"

They shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. "How'd ya know that?" 

"Simple." She reached into her canvass bag and pulled out the two  
Number Two pencils she kept for emergencies. Holding one in each hand,  
she fully turned and smiled. "Now, are you going to walk away, or will  
I have to beat you up?" 

They looked at each other, then grinned, charging her together.

As they got within a foot of her, she thrust her hands out, the pencils  
going into their hearts and splintering. 

Two piles of dust blew away, leaving her thinking to herself. 'I'd  
better get some stakes made.'

Willow leaned against the wall of the hospital wall between Bev and Oz,  
a position that seemed to have become natural for the three. She  
remained quiet as the large woman moved in front of them, as though to  
protect a dozing Eddie from them. She didn't allow herself to wince at  
the high-pitched voice of the hysterical woman.

"GET OUT!! Eddie doesn't want to see again. He doesn't need you, he  
has me. You're the little devils that put him here to begin with.  
Because of you, he's laying here in paralyzing agony. He may never be  
able to use his arm again. He could even be dying. All because of you  
little terrors." 

"B-b-b-but m-m-ma'am..."

The large woman jiggled as she waved her finger into his face. "Don't  
talk to me, don't you dare talk to me! You think I don't know about  
your little group? Well I do, I've heard the stories. Trying to  
corrupt my little Eddie, well it won't work! I won't let it. Juvenile   
delinquents is what you are! You and your two slut-fags." 

Oz growled at her, standing up tall. "Don't you ever refer to them as  
sluts. Apologize right now."

"I notice you didn't deny the fact that they're dykes," the woman   
sneered. "Probably daughters of Satan, and we all know what dykes are  
like. With their diseases, trying to infect all the good, heaven-going,  
god-abiding people of this world. I'm already having Eddie checked,  
the poor guy probably has some leprosy disease because of you little  
bitches..."

"Get. Out."

They stared at the bed, where a pale Eddie was glaring coldly at his  
mother. "Get. The. Hell. Out. Of. My. Room. Now."

"Eddie, don't you talk back to your mother! I know it hurts, but it's  
for your own safety. Now, don't you worry your head, I'll have  
security kick these nasty little demons thrown out."

"You leave them alone, before I tell the doctor to take away your  
visiting privileges! They're my friends and I want to see them."

"Eddie, you don't know what your saying. Your arm's affected your  
mind. But don't you worry, I'll take care of you and..."

"No." 

"You listen to me, Eddie..."

"I know about my inhaler."

She watched as Eddie's mother froze in horror. The large woman slowly  
stepped back from the bed and suddenly regained control. "I don't know  
what you're talking about."

"I know about it being a placebo. I also know that you need me to be  
sick."

"Eddie, NO!! You are sick, you have asthma, bad, and..."

"Leave my friends alone, Ma."

They stared at each other for a long minute, and then the mother  
sniffed and left the room fast. 

Willow smiled at the boy and bound over to him, but refrained from  
leaping onto the bed for fear of aggravating his injuries. "How're you  
feeling?"

"Fine. It hurts some, but not too bad."

Bill pulled out a pen and signed the cast, his writing clear and  
eloquent in contrast to his speech. He handed it to Willow and she  
signed her name in small, neat writing and kissed his forehead  
affectionately.

Oz scowled playfully at the hospitalized boy. "Hey, that's my girl you  
be a-kissing."

Eddie met his scowl with one of his own. "She's my girl now."

"Oh, them's fighting words."

"Hey now, boys, there's no need to fight. After all, we know what  
dykes are like."

They laughed at her impression, and one by one signed his cast.  
"Listen guys, I had a little run in last night," Willow added. 

"I-i-it?"

She rolled her eyes and snorted. "Two vampires."

The others gaped at her, before laughing even harder. She leaned down  
to see Richie rolling around on the floor gripping his sides.

"Yeah, well, I just thought I should warn you. You guys might want to  
start carrying stakes around. One good shot in the heart and they turn  
to dust."

Stan hit his forehead. "Oh, great! First we find out that the monster  
under our bed is real, now we find out so are vampires! What next,  
mummies and werewolves?"

Oz popped his head up, all laughter gone. "Oh man, you don't think...  
I mean it can't... It couldn't... No. I refuse to believe it."

Willow patted his head like a dog. "Now now, boy, Mistress Willow will  
protect you from the big bad monsters."

Oz rubbed his head against her leg and panted, barking and growling.

"Great, I just created a monster," she muttered.

Victor was known for following Henry around. A flunky, a groupie, but  
the truth was he was as crazy as -- if not crazier than -- Henry. He  
stood in front of the old beaten refrigerator and listened to the  
scratching and feeble barks inside.

Back when he was five, his parents had brought home a new baby boy, his   
brother. For the first month he put up with crying at all times of the  
night, late meals because of his brother, late night feedings, but the  
thing that really hurt was that his parents didn't have any more time  
for him. A couple of times Victor went into the nursery and just stood  
there staring at the little troublemaker, trying to figure out what his  
parents could possibly see in him. He cried, complained, whimpered,  
and stunk. But Victor could never figure out the solution to the  
problem, so he would leave and go watch television for a while.

One night, he'd lain awake listening to the soft whimpers of his  
brother down stairs. Frustrated at being kept awake, he quietly made  
his way downstairs. The baby sitter lay over the couch, snoring, and  
the baby was trying to get to a quarter that lay a few feet away. 

Victor grabbed the silver coin and gave it to him, watching as the boy  
placed it in his mouth. He cocked his head curiously at the noises the  
boy began to make, his lips were turning a dusky gray, growing darker  
and darker. The boy was trying to cry out, but couldn't. He reached  
out and took one of the little hands, fascinated by the way they lost  
they strength, and became still. He stood satisfied that he could get  
some sleep and went back upstairs.

Since then he'd grown increasingly obsessed with death, feeding poison  
to dogs and cats, starting to kidnap animals to torture and watch die  
slowly. Then lately he'd found this refrigerator. He'd stuffed the  
animals in it, and timed how long it took them to die.

He opened the rusted door to see what the puppy was like...and  
screamed.

Thousands of flying leeches swarmed him, latching on and sucking at his  
skin. He swatted at them, but found himself growing weaker and weaker.  
His legs collapsed under him and he fell back, unable to do anything  
but lay there in pain. Blood made them grow bigger like a balloon,  
until they would burst and start over.

He tried to scream again as a clown kneeled over him, a long set of  
fangs sinking into his stomach.

He tried to pass out, he wanted the pain to end, but something kept him  
awake to feel the blinding white pain. 

Beverly raced down the path, horrified by what she'd seen. She  
couldn't believe it, Vic was dead, or at least dying. 

She burst through the bushes at a full run, as everyone looked up she  
pointed to the direction she'd come from.   
"It..pant...Vic...pant...dead...pant..."

She groaned as Willow latched onto her hand and pulled her after the   
others without another word.

The trip back seemed too short, but they stopped a few yards from the  
now closed door and where the body used to be. A large puddle of blood  
was covering a five-foot-diameter circle.

"Whoa..." Richie muttered.

They registered Stan leaning over to throw up, but no one moved to help  
him. Bill walked over to the refrigerator and opened the door.

Balloons poured out of it, floating up and around them.

"L-l-l-look," he said, grabbing one by the string to hold it still.  
Words were written on the balloon in letters that were at once ghoulish  
and cartoonish: 

'Walk away before it's too late. Pennywise.'

"Great, another greeting card." Richie pushed his broken glasses up on   
his nose. "Looks like we're in for one hell of a ride." 

Chapter: Twelve

  
Summer Of 1989  


"You know, I thought you'd be taller."

Willow grabbed the thick wooden pole next to her bed and swung around,   
ready to pound in the head of that blasted clown. The fear she had  
felt dissolved into curiosity and disgust. The man before her was  
wearing a mismatched suit and a hat that was barely covering two short  
horns on his head.

"You're a demon," she muttered, the pole still held up while she tried  
to decide to pummel the guy or not.

"Yep, but of the good variety. Name's Whistler, by the way."

"A good demon? Isn't that a contradiction in terms?" She lowered the  
pole but kept her grip on it, just in case. "If you're good, then what   
are you doing in my room? Because last time I checked, men don't enter  
girls' room at night, at least not if their intentions are good, and  
you say your intentions are, so start talking before I pound your head  
in, because I am soooo not in the mood." 

"The Powers That Be have been keeping an eye on you and your friends,"  
the unimpressive demon informed her. "Almost everything has been going  
as it should, however..." He paused. "You, my red-haired friend,  
haven't."

"Uh, what do you mean?"

"Simple. You have a talent that's needed to defeat your friend  
Pennywise, and you were supposed to discover it right after you got  
here. But apparently you didn't. Typical teenager, doesn't do her  
homework," he muttered.

"Okay, one more crack like that, and I'll pound you on general  
principle!"

He sighed. "Sure, clobber the messenger. Pennywise and  
pound-foolish..."

"I mean it, Demon Boy, get to the point or it's 'batter up' time." She  
hefted the pole again. "I was supposed to discover this 'talent', but  
I've been kinda busy. So...?"

"So, I end up having to play delivery boy before you get yourself   
killed." He threw a thick, ancient leather-bound book onto the bed and  
dropped a paper sack.

"What talent? Why is it so important that I don't get killed, not that  
I want to, mind you?"

"Magic," he said bluntly, "and if you get killed then the future Slayer  
will get killed. You're an important supporting player in her life,  
and there's a lot riding on her destiny."

Willow blinked and lowered the pole. "Hold on, the future what?"

"Try to keep up, willya, kid? I'm on a tight schedule here. Look,  
this Clown you're tussling with is small potatoes compared to the stuff  
the Slayer will be up against, and she can't tackle it all without you.   
You are the to her ," he pronounced, using a couple of  
mystical words that skittered over her consciousness without sinking  
in.

"I'm the what, to her...huh?" 

Whistler groaned. "Um, the, uh...the Spock to her Kirk, okay? Sheez,  
you kids and your pop-culture. I'd say the Gabby to her Xena, or the  
Seven to her Janeway, but this is only eighty-nine, so you haven't seen  
them yet."

She shook her head, now even more confused.

"Now THAT is a spell book," he added, pointing, "and THAT is a bag of  
all the supplies you'll need for tomorrow. I suggest that you get   
prepared. Now, if you'll excuse me..."

She frowned as he disappeared into the shadows, vanishing out of her  
plane of reality. Would things ever go back to normal for her?

Sighing, she sat down on her bed and opened the book. If what that  
demon said was even half right, then she had a lot of reading to do  
before morning.

Willow stood across from the house next to the others, simply watching  
it. None of them wanted to be here, none of them wanted this  
responsibility on their shoulders, but they had no choice. Everyone  
was dressed in expandable play clothes. Lots of sweats and loose tee  
shirts. Bev, who had her hand in a death grip, had her hair  
French-braided so that it was out of the way. 

"H-how are y-you d-d-doing t-t-today, Ed-d-die?" 

Eddie glared at him, trying to keep up the playful banter, no matter  
how strained. "Jesus, Bill, how many times do I have to tell you not  
to stutter my name?"

"Y-your f-f-face a-a-and m-m-my a-a-ass."

Eddie punched him lightly on the shoulder. "And have to go to the  
doctor for a rabies shot? No thanks."

Everyone forced themselves to laugh, scared to drop the act of a group  
of children having fun. Bill stepped towards the house, signaling that  
it was time. One by one, they dropped to their knees and climbed under  
the porch. Bill went first, dropping down into the basement.

Richie kissed Willow's hand and winked as he dropped through next. She   
snorted softly and followed him, thumping him soundly on the back as  
Eddie followed. Together they grabbed his dangling legs and lifted him  
through. The others followed faster.

She adjusted her canvass bag on her hip, loosening the strap threaded   
through the dark metal buckle at the bottom front of the army bag, so  
that she could get into it with little trouble. She walked away from  
the others, looking around the dusty basement. She bent down by the  
coal pile ended and the bottom of the stairs and picked up the dirty  
black clown glove. Kneeling further down, she peeked under the stairs  
and laughed darkly as she caught a glimpse of the overflowing orange  
pom-poms.

"Well, you can say this for the guy, he isn't very subtle."

Willow grinned at Mike crookedly. "Whatever he is, he needs a   
makeover."

"Yeah, maybe we can get Elizabeth Taylor to do it." Richie put his  
hand on his waist, his hand up as though holding a cigarette holder.  
"All you have to do is purse you lips together and blow."

"That's Lauren Bacall, dipstick." Willow went up the stairs behind a   
tight-lipped Bill. She walked out into the hall.

The light pink and flowered wallpaper had turned brown, hanging by   
tattered strips that swayed in non-existent wind. The wooden floor was  
cracked and uneven. She moved towards the dining room, a small, long  
room that felt larger than a house that size could hold.

A hand latched onto hers, and she looked over at Bev, who gave her a  
shaky smile. Richie grabbed the strap to her army bag, staying right  
with them. The alabaster room soared over their heads, and crumbling  
small pieces of paint and dust fell into their hair.

She glanced over and gasped at the Playboy magazine layout pinned to  
the wall. The blonde muscular woman was gorgeous; the long, thick,  
wavy hair cascaded over the side of her face; medium-perky, firm,  
grapefruit-sized breasts were barely covered by a deep green thong that  
only seemed to hide her nipples. The deep green bottom wasn't even a  
string running down and between her legs.

The blue-eyed goddess on the pages came to life, wiggled her chest at  
them, and winked, the slim, pierced tongue licking over her lush,  
swollen red lips. She arched down and ran her long hands up the  
insides of her legs, over her mound, her trim stomach, and breasts,  
giving them a good squeeze. 

"Whoa," she muttered with Richie.

Beverly reached over and shut their slack jaws with a glare at her.   
"Pennywise, remember?"

"It's not that," she covered. "But who would ever stick something like  
that through their tongue? I mean, ewww, gross..."

They both looked back at the picture to see the centerfold with silver  
eyes and orange pom-poms where her breasts had been.

Willow shivered slightly. "I think I just lost all interest in   
blondes."

"You and me both, toots."

They walked back into the hall, taking soft steps, super-sensitive to   
everything around them. Muffled thumps and soft squeaks came from the  
kitchen. Letting Beverly take the lead, slingshot loaded and drawn  
back, they entered.

Mike reached up to the cabinet and yanked it open. Beverly aimed,  
tightening her grip on the sling.

"DON'T SHOOT!!!" Eddie screamed as the bats flew out.

Beverly nodded and lowered it. "He wants me to use up the bearings."

Mike slammed the door shut onto the overcrowded cabinet. Bill clenched  
his jaw angrily. " L-l-l-lets g-g-go o-o-on."

They walked further down the hall were four more doors. The first was  
cracked down the middle, the doorknob missing. Voices and laughter  
came from the second one. Bill walked over to the first door, drawing  
back his foot to kick it in.

"No." Willow swallowed the tingling sensation invading her mind again.  
"It's the last one." 

Bill stepped back and approached the last door. When Beverly was  
beside him, he threw it open, then they walked cautiously into the  
room.

"Man oh man, someone had one hell of a shit in here," Richie exclaimed.

The toilet was gone, the porcelain buried into the walls, having  
shattered what was once the sink, fragments laying in the old fashioned  
bath tub. Water sheeted the tiled floor in a thin blanket. A large   
three-foot-wide hole was where the toilet used to be, the pipe going  
down into the sewers.

She approached the hole, hearing a deep rumble like a train going too  
fast. She could see a blur of white and black coming toward her. "Uh,  
guys, I think we're about to have company..."

"Let's kill the son of a bitch," Stan said, shocking himself with the   
strength in his voice.

Willow backed to Beverly's side, daring someone to try and hurt her.  
Richie nodded to her and stood on Bev's other side, willing to protect  
her if that's what she wanted. They found themselves standing in a  
half-circle around the pipe as the silver light appeared, shifting  
chaotically. 

Richie screamed and fell against the wall, his eyes wide with terror.  
"NOOOOOO!!! It's the werewolf, don't let it get me, please..." Tears  
fell down his cheeks as he held back sobs. 

It locked into the werewolf form as Beverly fired the first bearing.  
She flinched as the silver ball scraped by Its head and burrowed into  
the wall behind him. It let out a fierce howl and charged.

Willow reacted on instinct, jumping in front of Bev and meeting its  
charge.

The giant creature slashed Its large claw in a downward diagonal swipe.  
Hot fire flared through her chest, blinding her momentarily, giving  
the beast a chance to lift her up into Its arms.

She came back to herself to see the deadly jaws wide open.

Yelling at the top of her voice, she thrust her fingers at It, feeling  
the sicking pop as Its eye gave way. She stopped yelling as she flew  
across the room, slamming into the wall above the tub, and falling into  
it.

She felt lightheaded, hearing the screams of her friends telling Bev to   
fire. The angry bawl of hatred retched from Its throat.

She groaned with effort, getting up from the tub; her left hand and   
lower arm burned an angry red as it began to swell around the deep,  
bloody scratch. She reached into her bag with her right hand, sighing  
with relief as she felt the glass tube was unbroken.

She threw the vial onto the floor by Its feet, shattering it to  
liberate its vapors. The sound, unnaturally loud, caused everything to  
stop.

It glared at her, wincing under the hail of silver bearings fired by  
the others to minimal effect, Its one yellow eye turning nervous as it  
recognized the scent of the mystic potion.

Richie skidded to a stop were he was about to tackle the thing. Bev  
was still aiming the sling shot, but everyone else was waiting.

She yelled at the top of her lungs in Latin, the two words making the  
werewolf whimper. It screeched out in pain as Bev's bearing hit Its  
other eye. The long deep yowl of rage and pain echoed throughout the  
shaking house as It retreated, vanishing into the pipe again, Its form   
dissolving.

She sighed and half-fell out of the tub, into Richie's waiting arms.  
"Are you okay? Gods, I could've killed that bastard for that."

She swallowed as she looked down at her now-red shirt, the whole front  
sticking to her chest. Carefully she examined the four long slashes  
that ran from her right shoulder down to her left hip. The cuts were  
deep and bleeding profusely, but far less than she might have expected.  
That werewolf's claws could have cut a large man in half...if he'd   
believed the illusion had substance. Her own awareness of the   
creature's true nature, and her own internal fortitude, had prevented  
serious injury. They would probably need stitches, but she doubted  
they were life threatening. "I'll live," she muttered tiredly, not  
wanting to admit how much pain she was in. 'It's a good thing I don't  
have any breasts yet...'

Beverly hugged her, kissing her gently on the lips. "Thank you for   
saving my life."

She blushed a deep red, and glared at a smirking Richie.

"W-w-what d-d-did y-y-you d-d-do?" 

"It was a banishing spell, it isn't very strong but I figured if we  
lost control of the fight it might come in handy. You know, so we can  
regroup, or whatever. Plus, it was the first spell I've ever done so I  
wasn't even sure if it would work. I mean, that demon dude said it's  
my talent but you can't always trust strange demons." She ran out of  
breath and gasped slightly.

"Ooooohhhh. Do you leave in a bottle and wear a stringy bikini too?"

She leaned into Richie and let him help her out of the bathroom. "Beep  
beep, Richie." 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter: Thirteen  
  
Summer Of 1989  
  
Two Weeks Later  


Willow stared at her uncle nervously, unable wrap her mind around what  
he'd just said. 'He told my mother I was gay...' 

"You're gonna get it now, you cunt-sucking bitch, oh you're going to  
get it good. I'm going to fucking knock you around this house until  
you're begging for mercy, then I'm going to beat you some more." He  
cracked his knuckles in his hand, and stepped forward with a half  
smile. "And just you wait your fag ass, because when you get home your  
mother is going to teach you all about your soul-damned sins."

That was all she needed to here to send her sprinting out the door.  
She took what her mother dished out - hell, she was even an expert at  
hiding it, but she was not going to close her eyes and take it from her   
crazy uncle. The bastard was as bad as his sister, and probably just  
as deadly, given the mood he was in.

She could hear him behind her, screaming out insults and threats. But  
he was also fat and out of shape, and no matter how much he wanted to  
slap her around, he couldn't keep up. She looked back and stopped at  
what she saw.

The look in his eyes, the way the neighbor simply went inside and shut  
the door, how the couple walking down the sidewalk kept going without  
raising their heads. All of it reminded her of something she'd seen in  
Its eyes, something she'd seen a million times in her mother's eyes.  
IT.

The realization that everything ended here, today, hit her hard.  
Running again, she knew she needed to get down to the Barrens. Now. 

Stan saw it when the car nearly ran into him and Mike as they tried to  
cross the street. The older driver he'd known to be kind had stared at  
him with a saddened statement for just an instant, then it changed into  
a blank scowl.

Mr. Keene stopped sweeping the broom outside his pharmacy, he stormed  
into his store, locking the door and turning the closed sign around.  
He glared at them and disappeared into the back. The bright sky   
darkened, storm clouds racing in over the town.

"Come on, we've got to get down to the barrens. Now." 

Beverly dropped to her throbbing, grease-covered knees and punched  
Henry between the legs. The boy howled in outrage, as she got to her  
feet and dived down into the underbrush of the barrens. She yanked the  
trap door of the clubhouse open and jumped down, closing it behind her.

"Bev, what happened? Are you okay?" Willow asked as the other girl   
burrowed into her arms.

"It got to my father, and now Henry's gone crazy."

Richie snorted. "And he wasn't before?"

"No, I mean homicidal crazy. He has a switchblade, and he went after  
this old man that tried to help me, and he's on his way down here right  
n--"

They went quiet as they heard the voices of Henry and Belch. They were   
talking to themselves as they searched around the clubhouse. One of  
them stepped onto the roof, sending a fine layer of dirt to fall onto  
their upturned faces.

"Where the hell are they?" Henry growled.

"Look, maybe we should just go..."

"NO! We kill those little bastards today." 

The two boys continued arguing as they walked into the distance.

"Bill and the others are on their way down..." Richie said softly.

"Damn." Willow let go of Beverly and stood up. "We have to warn  
them." She pushed the trap door open and peeked out. "It's clear.  
Go." 

While Beverly and Richie pulled themselves up, she grabbed her black  
canvass bag, putting the strap over her arm and head. Moving quickly,  
she let Richie help her up.

"I-I-I'm t-t-telling you, B-b-batman c-could k-k-kick S-s-spider-Man's   
b-b..."

"Bill! We've got trouble, man." 

Bill entered the clearing with the others in tow. Willow could see in  
the pale white faces that they already knew. Light rain fell onto them  
as they walked over the morlock hole, working together to level it up  
and push it off. She felt the strain of pushing it in the scabbed over  
cuts on her chest as it fell to the ground.

"We don't have any light," Stan pointed out.

She reached into her canvass bag and pulled out a waterproof hunting  
flashlight. "Here." She handed it to Eddie.

"L-l-l-lets e-e-end t-t-this." Bill threw his leg over the edge and  
climbed down, waiting until Eddie had gotten onto the latter before  
proceeding down, staying close to the small boy.

Willow stayed back letting them go down, one by one, until it was just  
her and Oz standing in the worsening rain.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a simple leather string with  
an occult pentagram on it. Lifting up on his toes he lowered it over  
her head. "I just wanted you to know how much I love you."

She hugged the boy close. "I love you too, Oz, just not in that way."

"I know, and I only want to see you happy. Whether you're gay or not." 

"Hey, dipshits, are you coming?" Beverly hollered up at them.

Richie cocked a grin and started down the ladder. "Jeez, what's got  
your bra in a bunch? You got a date with death or something?"

"Yeah, and I'm taking you with me, trash mouth!"

"Well, you know what they say, doll. Death is the greatest adventure  
of all." 

"Yeah, and so is digging up your nose."

"You would know, wouldn't you? Hey, Red, did ya know that Bevy likes  
to go excavating every day for lunch?"

She dropped down into the waist-high water and snorted arrogantly.  
"Yeah, only the best for my Bev."

"Cut it out guys, this is seri-- FUCK!!" Stan leaped back, narrowly  
missing being hit by a brick-sized rock.

"I'M GOING TO KILL YOU FUCKERS!!!" Henry held another brick over the  
morlock hole and dropped it.

"Uh, guys I hate to be petrified and run, but I'm thinking we should  
get lost. Fast," Willow said as she jumped back from the large splash.

"I'm agreeing with Red here," Richie volunteered.

They continued to back away, keeping an eye on Henry as he started to  
climb down. 

"E-e-eddie, w-w-which w-w-way?"

Eddie took his position in the front with Bill, leading them to the  
left of ladder. Willow waited for them to pass before she pulled the  
neon yellow spray can from her bag. Carefully she drew an arrow on the   
wall with a W at the head, then followed after them.

She known, since the day they'd realized where It lived, that they  
would end up down here, and being the person she was, began to make   
preparations for such an event. There was a lot she could've done to  
prepare, but she knew most of it would've been useless.

The final battle, when it took place, was going to be impromptu, and no   
time to carry a bag of supplies. So instead she'd opted for three   
items, which she could carry in the army bag that was a constant on her  
body. A waterproof flashlight, back up batteries, and a spray can.

She was more than aware of how easy it was to get lost in the sewers,  
and even if they did manage to find their way down, there was no  
guarantee that they'd find their way back. So she'd bought the can of  
spray paint. Yellow, so that it could be easily distinguished from the  
other colors, and quick-drying so that it couldn't be wiped off.

"Hey, what's with the paint?" Richie asked as she paused long enough at  
the next tunnel to put another arrow on the wall.

"Just in case." 

Richie's cocky grin melted. "Thanks. Now come on, we've got us some  
clown ass to kick."

Thundering rain pounded through the pipes as they went lower and lower  
under the town of Derry. The water from the drains and runoffs flooded  
the pipes that ranged from less than three feet wide to eight feet.  
Sometimes to the point where they were barely able to keep their heads

above the water, others they  
were totally submerged for up to a minute at a time. The water flowed  
strongly around them, trying to knock them back and almost succeeding.

Willow held her breath and swam forward in the small pipe, her lungs  
burning against their treatment. The line seemed to move slowly in  
front of her, but she knew that they were going as fast as they could  
under the circumstances. 'Oh goddess, don't let me die like this, not  
down here.'

She thrust forward again as Richie swam out of the other end of the  
pipe. She bit into her cheek and followed, bobbing up above the water  
line and greedily swallowing the foul air. Eddie triggered his inhaler  
twice, then pointed to the downward-sloped pipe a foot above the water  
level.

She thanked whatever goddess was listening and painted another arrow   
pointing down to the pipe they'd just left. Stuffing the wet can into  
her now-heavy bag, she swam over to the large pipe and hauled herself  
out of the grey water.

Beverly reached down and helped her to her feet. "Eddie says we're  
almost there."

"Good, then we can fight a child-killing monster, with a small hope  
that by the time we kill the bastard that the whole damned sewer hasn't  
flooded and drowned us." 

"Well, it could be worse."

Willow smirked knowingly, " How?"

"Richie could be telling jokes."

Richie glared at them. "Hey, I heard that." 

The dry pipe tilted dangerously downward, as they turned the corner.  
The darkness seemed to consume the light, sucking it in until they  
could barely see more than a foot a head of them at a time.

"Do you guys here something?"

They listened to the rumbling of water from above them. Willow gripped   
Richie's arm, keeping a tight grip on Beverly's hand.

"I have a bad feeling about this."

Willow ignored Beverly for now, her eyes narrowing with understanding.  
"Bill, give me the flashlight."

"W-w-why?"

"Because if you don't, we'll lose our only source of light." She  
quickly turned it off, shoving it back in her bag, and tightening the  
strap on it. "Hold hands, and whatever you do, don't let go." 

They listened quietly as the rumbling swiftly grew nearer. She prayed  
that she was wrong about this, knowing that if she was right that they  
might not make it.

Seconds later, a wave of thick, sticky metallic liquid slammed into  
them, carrying them haphazardly down the tunnel. She struggled to hold  
on, but her hands slipped from the others.

The tender, sore body slammed into the walls of the tunnel, over and  
over. Her lungs tried to exhale with every pounding she took, but she  
kept her lips clamped together. She reached out to find out which way  
was up, slipped down and twisted in the liquid, until she was going  
down head-first.

Arms cut through the liquid, putting more speed on her already  
dangerous pace. She kicked out her legs, pushing off the walls. Her  
badly abused lungs were burning in a cold saturating pain, creating  
spots in her eyelids. She swam faster, desperate for air. Darkness  
began to settle over her mind, she opened her mouth and...breathed  
oxygen.

She struggled to open her eyes, coughing onto the floor were she was  
thrown out of the pipe. Blood covered the large room, staining their  
skin and clothes. She scanned the others to make sure that they were  
okay. Her stomach tightened at the sight of Eddie laying in the far   
corner, his head turned in a strange angle.

"E-e-eddie?" Bill knelt by him and pressed his fingers to the side of  
his neck. Slowly he stood, his posture tense.   
"H-h-he's...d-d-d-d-dea-a-a-ad."

Willow sat stunned, staring at the body of the small boy. She hadn't  
known him well, but in the last two months the whole group had  
developed a bond that was too strong to ever be broken. Salty tears  
ran down her bloodstained face.

Stan sprinted into the pipe, his panicked footsteps reaching their  
ears. They stared at each other, too tired to go after him. She stood  
and stared at the pipe, trying to decide what to do. They had to kill  
It, but without all seven of them it would be hard. Five, instead of  
six, would be even harder.

The piercing scream of pain slapped them out of their shock. The  
scream cut off and a loud thud of a body falling reverberated through  
the pipe.

"I'M COMING FOR YOU NEXT, FAG!!!"

Bill spun to the small door next to Eddie's body and yanked it open,  
diving in. The four of them followed, knowing they were trapped  
between two killers. The deep cave was wall to wall in a cocoon of a  
spiderweb, bodies of half-eaten children and babies hanging from it.  
The ceiling went up and up, stories upon stories, with no sign of  
reaching the ground level of the town.

She turned her eyes to the tarantula coming from the side tunnel. Its  
size astonished her, standing as big as a double-wide trailer. Somehow  
she wasn't frightened, knowing that It was still hiding its true form  
from them.

"YOU KILLED MY BROTHER, YOU BITCH, AND I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!!"

The spider cocked its head and lurched forward, snapping its jaw down  
onto Bill's head.

Willow clenched her jaws together, as the taller boy fell dead. This  
wasn't supposed to happen, they were supposed to do the killing, and  
then they were going to go on with their lives like nothing happened. 

"Christ, Bill..." Richie backed away from the spider regarding them  
with a dark humor.

Willow stepped forward, determined to finish this now. She stared into  
the silver eyes of the spider, thrusting her mind out at It.

She shuddered helplessly as it latched on, and thrust its own mind out   
in return.

Chud.

She opened her eyes on the plain and stared at the silver light that  
was It.

"You wish to die, young one." 

"No, I wish you to die."

"Three of your friends are dead, you have already failed."

"I won't let myself fail. This ends now."

"Very well..."

The shape's spiritual teeth sank into her tongue. She pushed down her  
lurching stomach, and bit deeply into the long, black tongue.

"You don't exist, you are nothing but an illusion. This is nothing but  
an illusion. I belive in the Easter Bunny, and  
Vampires, and Whistler, and Slayers, and Witches. But you aren't real,  
you are nothing." 

"Stop this foolishness. You can't win, you're nothing but a puny  
child. You will die..."

"You are the one who's nothing. You have no power over me, you will  
never have any power over me, you can not control me because you aren't   
here..."

"NO!!! YOU WILL NOT DO THIS. YOU WILL ROT IN THIS COLD, DARK PLACE  
AND YOU WILL DIE. I WILL EAT YOUR SOUL AND LEAVE YOUR BODY A LIFELESS  
SHELL."

She chuckled, causing it to scream in pain, all the fear and hate she'd   
felt melted away. Leaving her a sure, mature girl, forced to grow up  
too soon. "No, you won't. Now, take me back and leave this world."

The spider screamed out, "STOP, IT HURTS! LET ME GO BEFORE IT'S TOO  
LATE!!!!"

"This is over. You're dead..."

"Willow!!" Richie screamed out as the spider collapsed to the ground,  
whining loudly in pain.

She walked over to It, taking a small ziplock bag from her pocket.  
Opening it, she sprinkled it over the dying body and chanted softly,  
not stopping until a blaze of white fire engulfed it. The mystical  
light gave out with its last heartbeat, plunging the surviving four  
into darkness.

Richie and Mike reached into the morlock hold and helped Willow out.  
She was feeling the effects of the fight and the magic she'd never  
practiced before. Her legs nearly sent her tumbling to the ground, but  
Bev grabbed her in time.

Mike pulled a small Swiss army knife from his pocket, and opened the   
blade. "We may have killed It, but if It ever comes back..." 

Richie nodded and held out his hands, flinching as Mike cut a line  
across both of his palms. Willow and Beverly did the same, waiting  
while he cut his own.

They solemnly took each others hands, bonding their promise with blood.

If It ever came back, they would be there.

Chapter: Fourteen

  
Winter of 1995  


Willow ducked around the students crowding the halls of Sunnydale high,  
to her locker. She twirled the lock with practiced ease, and dumped  
the last of her books inside. Homework was completed in study hall,  
and she'd spent every spare second studying. Which meant she had the  
weekend free.

"Hey, there you are, I've been looking all over for you."

Buffy cleared her throat pointedly and corrected Xander. "WE'VE been   
looking for you." She saw the blonde lean against the locker next to  
hers. "So where were you?"

She glanced over at them, and looked back at her locker. "I...wasn't   
feeling well this morning."

Buffy pressed her hand to her forehead with a frown. "You don't have a  
fever." 

Willow sighed and dodged away from her hand, closing the locker loudly.  
"I'm fine now."

"Willow!!" 

'Oh no not this. Not now.' She felt Amy behind her, the witch's hand  
touching her arm tenderly. To Buffy and Xander, she said, "I'll meet  
you in the library, I need to talk to Amy for a minute."

Her two friends exchanged concerned looks. "Sure. Don't take long,  
okay?"

She ignored Buffy's remark and followed Amy into an empty classroom. 

Once alone, the other witch gently kissed her, pulling Willow into her  
arms. She allowed herself to relax in the warm embrace of her lover.  
"Did she hurt you?" Amy asked.

Willow let go of her and leaned into the teacher's desk. "Yeah." 

"I never should've left last night, if I hadn't..." 

"Then you would be dead, or worse." She sighed tiredly, running her  
hand through her jaw-length hair. "I'm fine, I managed to get to my  
hiding place before it got too bad." 

"We need to tell Giles, he'll..."

"What? Call child protective services and have me removed from my  
home? Then what, they put me with one of my relatives who are crazier  
than she is? Maybe send me to live with my drunken father in Georgia?  
Or maybe they put me in foster care." Willow softened at the sad,   
loving look on her lover's face. "She wasn't always this bad, you  
know. It wasn't until..." She choked slightly. "...sixth grade, when  
my father divorced her, that she got so bad. She blames me for his  
leaving."

"Oh, Willow." Amy wrapped her arms back around her, kissing her   
forehead. "There has to be something else you can do. I won't let her  
keep hurting you."

"It's only until I graduate. I can make it. It's only two and half  
more years." Willow buried her face into Amy's chest. "I've lived  
with it for sixteen years, two more should be easy." 

"Just promise me you'll be more careful."

She nodded in agreement. She hated doing this to her lover, keeping   
their dating a secret, but if it came out, it would get back to her  
mother. A woman of God, who believed girls dated boys, end of story.  
After the summer of '89, her mother had known about her being gay, and  
when she'd gotten home, she'd paid dearly for it. Since then, if she  
even looked at a female, or had a female friend, then she had to  
relearn 'the lesson'.

Now, after becoming Buffy's best friend, and dating Amy for three  
years, she was walking a dangerous line. So she kept her sexual  
identity a secret, not even Xander knew. She kept it hidden so deep  
that only Amy knew, and the witch understood, having seen the results  
the lessons she received regularly.

Her only escape was her closet. A few years before, she'd accidently  
found a secret panel leading to a small room, just big enough to make  
an impromptu bed and store certain items she didn't want found. But it  
didn't always work.

Then last night, she'd paid big time. Her mother had been gone for two  
weeks on a business trip to London, and wasn't supposed to be back for  
another two days. So when Amy had told her that they couldn't practice  
their magic at her house, Willow had invited her over, deeming it safe.

Of course, as always, while they were setting up for a spell, one thing  
had led to another, and clothes had been shed. They had been so intent   
on each other that they didn't hear the taxi pull up, or the front door  
open, or the footsteps on the stairs, or even her bedroom door opening.

She'd managed to keep the situation under control long enough to  
shepherd Amy out of the house, but once the door had closed behind her,  
she'd been taught a lesson about sin that had left her laying in bed  
until noon.

"I'd better get to the library," she mumbled, standing up and kissing   
her girlfriend.

"Call me."

"As soon as I have a chance," she promised.

Slowly, she walked out into the now-empty hall, careful not to pull the  
welts on her back or the bruises on her chest. She could hear the  
joyous laughter and banter from the library, and paused at the doors,  
just listening.

Buffy, Xander, and Giles. They were her family, they were the ones  
that showed her love and acceptance. Yet, she found it so hard to hold  
the sadness and guilt at bay. The summer so many years ago was still  
there with her, day after day, reminding her of her failure, and the  
price that they had all paid to stop a billion-year-old monster.

Now, she was afraid of failing her family.

She fingered the pentagram hanging from her neck, remembering the other  
survivors. They had stayed in contact, writing and talking on the  
phone. She regretted having to come back here, instead of hanging  
around to help deal with the backlash, but it all worked out anyway.

"Earth to Willow..." Buffy waved a hand in front of her face. "Hey,   
you okay?"

She forced a goofy grin across her face and entered the library.  
"Fine, just tired." She sat carefully in one of the chairs and looked  
at Giles. "So, any new baddies? Evil master vampires that are  
schizophrenic, demons trying to kill Buffy, or maybe a nice little evil  
leprechaun like in that horror movie?"

"Does Snyder count?" Xander asked. "I mean, that guy is just...eugh."

"Yes, well, while I appreciate your attempt at..." Giles cleared his   
throat. "...humor, I just received the books from the Council, and I  
need your help getting them sorted."

Buffy and Xander groaned loudly, shaking their heads in denial.

"Are you sure there's nothing I need to slay?" Buffy asked hopefully.   
"Maybe I should patrol?"

"As helpful as that is, I believe that it might be more effective after  
the sun sets."

"Oh. Yeah." Buffy stood up and glared at the two large crates of  
books. "We'll never get this done."

"I think it's fun." Willow walked over to one of the crates, wrapping  
her arms around her chest. "That old leather smell that takes you off  
into another world or adventure or romance, and then..." She trailed  
off at the looks Buffy and Xander were giving her.

"Quite right, I agree," Giles said, as he pried the first crate open  
and passed the first book to Willow.

She slid the last book onto the shelf and stretched her back, the deep  
pain grounding her. She was so used to it by now that she knew how to  
continue functioning, and what scared her the most was the fact that it  
was now a part of her.

Buffy sneezed from where she sat at her feet, interrupting her dialogue   
about Angel. "...so he took me out to this cliff that had the most  
romantic view." She let out a dreamy sigh, and leaned her head against  
Willow's leg.

Willow closed her eyes, taking in the warmth of her best friend. "I'm  
glad you two are working out so well." She ran her hand through  
Buffy's blonde hair, and her friend sighed again and nuzzled her arm.

"Hey, guys, we're through, now we can party!!"

She jerked her hand back and moved away from her confused friend,  
glaring at an oblivious Xander. He was bouncing from foot to foot  
excitedly. "I can't," she said, "I need to get home."

Buffy hopped to her feet, and threw her arm over Willow's shoulder,   
causing her to hiss in pain as she hit the tops of the welts. The   
blonde froze and slowly stared at her closely, her eyes going to her  
back and then to her pale face. "Will?"

She tried to pull away from her friend, but the Slayer kept a tight  
hold on her. "Yes?"

"What's wrong with your back?" 

"M-my back? Nope, nothing wrong, it's fine. What could possibly be  
wrong with it? I mean, we haven't fought any baddies lately, so how  
would I get hurt?" She tried to back away again, but Xander moved  
around to stop her.

"Then why did you flinch?"

"Me? Did I flinch? I might've had a tic, but no flinch."

Buffy kept a tight hold on her and yanked the back of her shirt up,  
gasping at what she saw. Xander sobbed and fell back, his face pale  
green.

"Don't..." 

Buffy growled under her breath, then yelled, "GILES!!!" She dragged  
Willow towards the Watcher that had stepped out of his office. "Look  
at this." Unceremoniously, she twirled the young witch around and  
lifted her shirt.

"Good lord... Who did this to you?"

She harshly yanked away from the Slayer and backed away. "Nobody. I-I  
fell. Down the stairs. I-it was an accident."

"You aren't a very good liar," Xander whispered, his eyes searching her  
for an answer. Confusion turned to concern, and something clicked as  
his mouth fell open. "She did this, didn't she?"

"No one touched me," she insisted.

"I don't know why I didn't see it before," he muttered to himself,  
running a hand through his shaggy black hair. "The way she's been  
since the divorce, how scared you seem to be of her..." He stared up   
at her with tear-filled eyes. "Why didn't you tell me? I would've  
helped."

"Oh really? How?" she asked sarcastically. "Maybe kill her, leaving  
me with only a drunken father to live with? Or maybe you'd just kidnap  
me and I'd be living on the street. I don't need your help, I can take  
care of myself."

Buffy started at her with frustration. "Yeah, and you've obviously  
been doing a dandy job of it so far."

Giles gently pushed her into a chair, and sat on the table. "You're  
right, we don't have a lot of choices here. Most of which would end  
with you moving or in foster care." 

"Giles, can I use your phone?" Buffy asked.

"Yes, of course." He kept his eyes on Willow. "You obviously can't  
continue to stay with this...woman. If this pattern of abuse keeps up,  
she's liable to kill you."

"It's only for two more years."

Giles took off his glasses, and cleaned the lenses. "Nevertheless, two  
years may be all it takes for you to get killed. I have a  
responsibility to address this, Willow, for your own safety."

"Great, then what the hell am I supposed to do?"

"Live with me," Buffy stated firmly coming out of Giles office. "I   
just spoke with my mother, and she's agreed with the idea." 

"No, Buffy..." she started.

"This isn't up for debate. Now let's go get you packed."

Giles replaced his glasses with relieved anger. "Legally speaking, I'm   
not certain that's a viable option. Willow's mother still has legal  
custody of her. However..." He allowed himself a thin smile. "I  
believe I may be able to cope with that aspect." 

Buffy smirked. "And it's not like everything we do is legal to begin  
with. Vampires probably have rights to protest being slain, for all we  
know."

Xander snickered humorlessly. "Vampire lawyers. There's a scary  
thought." 

"Actually, they're the same thing, when you think about it." Giles'  
smile grew warmer. "I'll drive you." 

"I'm going, too," Xander said as he grabbed his book bag.

Willow slumped her shoulders in surrender, trying to hold back her  
tears. She loved these guys, and maybe, just maybe, she was finally  
going to get away from her so-called mother.

Willow slammed the last suitcase shut, letting Xander run it downstairs  
to the car with all the other stuff. She looked over the bare room and  
sighed. She'd never see it again, and as far as she was concerned,  
that was a good thing.

"Ready?" Buffy asked quietly.

Willow started to nod, then glanced over at her closet. "Not yet."  
She went into the empty closet and triggered the latch on the secret  
panel, smiling at the intake of breath from her friend. She reached  
in, grabbing a large Nike sports bag and handed it to Buffy, then  
grabbed the stuffed frog Xander had won for her and the black canvass  
army bag her father gave her.

She closed the panel and turned to see her friend's questioning look.  
"The bag is magic books and supplies," she explained. "The bag was  
what I always carried instead of a pocketbook, but since it used to  
belong to my father, my mother would get...angry when she saw it. And   
Xander gave me the frog."

"And that?" Buffy asked, pointing to the panel.

"The only place I'm safe from her."

Buffy's jaw clenched. "Let's get the hell out of here."

Willow nodded tiredly, at her unspoken words. 'Before I kill her.'

Giles let himself into the house, walking quietly into the living room  
where the older woman was sitting with a glass of wine. He could see  
the uncanny resemblance between her and Willow, making his anger boil  
even more. He folded up his glasses and stuffed them into his pocket  
as he cleared his voice.

Dr. Rosenburg looked up, her fragile face lined with anger. "Just who  
the hell are you, and what the hell are you doing in my house?"

"My name is unimportant...Ma'am," he spat out in rage. "I came to tell  
you that your daughter is now living with a friend of hers, and to  
bring you a little warning: if you even think of trying to do anything  
to interfere, then I will personally go to the police and report  
your...lessons." 

"Like anyone would believe a pathetic old man like you." 

He smiled darkly and leaned against the wall. "Oh, but they would.  
Not only do I have pictures of the scars and injuries on her body, but  
I am part of a very powerful organization that could -- and would --  
gladly see you locked away in a padded cell for the rest of your  
fucking life."

Willow's mother gulped with fear, her hand shaking so badly that she  
dropped the flute to the floor. "Well...I never wanted that bastard  
child anyway," she stammered, obviously cowed. "Let someone else deal  
with that little fag."

Giles paused as her words registered. "I see. Then you wouldn't mind  
signing this." He handed her a number of legal documents.

"Just what the hell are these?"

"Papers that will give me power of attorney." Giles handed her a  
pen. "Now sign them."

Dr. Rosenburg jerked the pen from his hand and scribbled her signature.  
"Here, now get the hell out of my house."

Giles pocketed the documents, tipped his head quite civilly, and walked  
calmly out of her house without looking back.

Chapter: Fifteen

  
Winter of 1995  


Buffy smiled happily at Xander and sat down next to him. The last few  
days had been hard, but well worth it. Her mother had practically  
dragged poor Willow to the doctor, then she'd spent the rest of the  
time fixing large meals and playing mother to her friend.

Giles had been acting the same, but the day after Willow had moved in  
he'd presented her with papers giving him legal guardianship over  
herself. The look of joy on the red-haired girl's face had sent jolts  
of some emotion through her heart.

"So how's our favorite hacker doing?" Xander asked in greeting.

"Great, but she keeps having these nightmares."

"Isn't that normal, especially after what she's been through?"

"Yeah, but these are different. She keeps yelling out for this guys.  
Bill, Eddie, and...Stan." Buffy sighed. "I don't even think she knows   
she has them."

"Are you sure they're nightmares and not...you know..."

"I know the difference, Xand." Buffy glanced up happily as Willow  
entered the library, wearing a genuine smile. "And what has you so  
happy?" 

Willow hopped onto the seat next to her. "I just feel so alive and  
free and so..." She waved her hands, searching for adequate words.

"Beep beep, Red," said a voice from the past, behind her.

Willow's eyes widened as she spun around and squealed. "OZ!"

The shorter boy fell back slightly when she launched herself into his  
arms, squeezing him to her. "Oxygen...becoming...an issue."

She let go and clapped. "Ohmygod, what did you do to your hair?!  
Where are your glasses? Hey, I love the duds...!" He blushed as she   
took in the green-died, spiked hair and half-goth, half-grunge look.  
She reached over and pinched his left ear where it was pierced, gently  
rubbing at the black hoop on his upper ear. "I like it!"

"I decided it was time for a change." He spoke quietly, keeping his  
emotions neutral.

She smiled sadly in understanding and hugged him again. "Why didn't   
you tell me you were coming?"

"I wanted to surprise you." He looked at her with his half grin. "We   
just moved here."

"Really?!" She danced around happily. "That's great! I'll get to  
show you the bronze, and...well, the bronze, and it'll be great.  
We'll hang out, and go to the movies and..."

"Aren't you going to introduce your boyfriend?" Xander asked in a stiff  
voice. 

Oz snorted loudly at him. "BOYfriend? The last time I checked, Red  
was into the female variety. Which reminds me, when am I going to meet  
this girlfriend of yours? You know the witch? Amy? Is that her  
name?"

Willow slapped her hand over her eyes and groaned. "Thank you, trash  
mouth." 

"Whoa, wait just one darn minute!" Xander broke in. "I know my Willow  
and she is NOT gay. She is extremely, totally, fully, heterosexual.  
Yessiree, if she was gay she would've told me, cause we're best  
friends, and that's what best friends do. They tell each other  
everything. Right, Will...?" 

His smirk began to fade as she stared down at her feet like a lost  
little girl.

"Will? Y-y-you're not. Are you?" 

Buffy frowned slightly in concern and hurt. "Willow?" she asked more  
gently.

"Yeah, I am. Gay, that is," she whispered. "I've been dating Amy for  
three years now." 

"Oh, Will... Why didn't you tell us?" Buffy scolded softly.

"My mother said that it's a sin to be..." She sniffed slightly. "...I  
didn't want her to find out that I was still...that I was..."

Buffy closed the distance between them and hugged her tightly. "It  
doesn't matter, none of it matters anymore. You're free now, so no  
more secrets, okay?"

Willow nodded into her shoulder, feeling lighter now that her friends  
didn't seem to care.

"Yeah, no more secrets, huh?" Xander said as he joined the hug.

Behind them, Oz cleared his throat. "Uh, Will, can I talk to you for a   
second?"

Willow stiffened as she recognized that tone. She backed out of her  
friends' arms and stared at him. "Oz? What's wrong?"

He meet her eyes solemnly. "I think it would be best if we talked  
alone."

"Now, wait just a second. Anything you need to say to Willow, you can  
say to us? Right, Will?" Xander said possessively as he scowled at the  
teenage boy trying to steal 'his' Willow.

Willow ignored him. "Giles, can we use your office?"

Giles looked up guiltily from were he sat, pretending to read a book  
while he was listening to them. "If you must."

Willow herded her old friend inside and shut the door, locking it for  
good measure. She was more than aware of how possessive Xander could  
be, and just how much trouble he'd go to, to make sure the offending   
person knew it. "Oz, what's wrong?"

"The summer after you left, I was bitten by my cousin Jordy." Oz paced  
in front of her. "The thing is...that he's a werewolf."

"Which means now you are, too." Willow slumped back, laughing dully.  
"If ol' Pennywise was still around, he'd be having one hell of laugh."

"Jordy was 25 at the time."

Willow's head snapped up. "You think that he was...?"

"The look in his eyes when he did it were exactly like It's."

Willow stood up and frowned at the ceiling in thought. "We killed that  
bitch, I felt her die, we saw her die." She spun around and leaned   
against the desk, chewing on her bottom lip thoughtfully. "You know  
how I told you that Buffy's a Slayer and Giles is her watcher?"

"Uh-huh."

"Well, he once talked about there being all these hellmouths across the  
world, and one of them was in Derry. However, according to him, it was   
closed in the late eighteen hundreds. Now suppose one for second that  
It reopened it..."

"Whoa, whoa." Oz held up his hands. "Pronoun trouble," he said in a  
perfect Daffy Duck impression.

She sighed. "That Pennywise reopened the Derry hellmouth," she  
resumed, "then after we killed It, the hellmouth was still influencing  
the town." 

"So all we really did was stop the direct influence It had, and the  
killings, but because of the hellmouth, its vibes were still infecting  
the adults," Oz finished with a sigh. "Then does that mean It's also  
infecting Sunnydale?" 

"Maybe. We can't really know, even if we asked Giles..." They both  
shook their heads, knowing that what happened that summer was a secret  
that had to be kept, even from close new friends. "We do need to tell  
them about your...uh...condition, though."

"I know," Oz whispered as he moved into her arms.

"Come on, trash mouth, let's get this over with."

"Let me get this straight," Xander growled as he stood, glaring at them  
across the table. "You two know each other from the summer you spent  
in Derry, and you two are close friends that have kept in touch. But  
you..." he cursed as he pointed to Oz, scowling pointedly were they  
held hands. "Are now living here, where you can see MY best friend  
whenever you want."

Oz smirked slightly and nodded. "That about covers it."

"And to top it all off," Xander added, "you're a flea-infested, rabid  
mongrel..." 

"Yeah, and I'm a werewolf, too," Oz said with a straight face.

Xander blinked at the joke, realizing he'd walked right into it. "Oh,  
now Dog Boy is trying to make a funny, is he?" he asked darkly.

"Trying is the key word here," Willow giggled.

Oz raised his eyebrow at her. "Your face and my ass, witch."

"And what's with all the witch stuff, anyway?" Xander asked crossing   
his arms.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you, I'm a witch," Willow said, avoiding the  
sharp look in Giles eyes as he spun to look at her.

"Whoa, what do you mean 'witch'? As in magic, and spells, and turning  
people into toads?"

"You could put it that way, yeah." Willow nodded.

Buffy smiled tentatively. "So...'are you a good witch or a bad   
witch'?"

Oz smirked seductively, rolling his voice through his throat. "Oh, is  
she one bad-assed wiccan." 

"Quiet!" Giles stalked over and glared down at her over his glasses.  
"Just how long have you been practicing, young lady?"

Willow ducked her head and whispered, "Around a year..."

"How 'around'?" 

"Closer to three years..."

"Just how 'close'?"

"Sevenyears," She mumbled quickly. 

"I see. And just how powerful are you?" he asked darkly.

"Pretty powerful."

Giles sighed patiently. "How much is 'pretty powerful'?"

She exchanged a look with Oz. "What, you mean on, like, a scale of one  
to ten?"

"Willow..." 

"Powerfulenoughtocastmostspellslevitatelargeobjectsandsomeesp." 

"Oh my, why on earth didn't you tell me this before?" 

Willow pouted up at him. "Because I know how much you disapprove of us  
using magic."

"Fine, but from now on..."

"No more secrets," she finished. 

"Good, then I shall arrange for you to take lessons and..."

"I already am."

Giles smiled proudly. "Oh, so you're practicing responsibly. With  
whom, may I ask?"

"Amy," Willow returned. "Her mother's this really powerful witch, and  
Amy has been learning since she was a baby."

Giles frowned thoughtfully, making a mental note to look into this  
woman's credentials. If all was well, he saw no reason why Willow  
shouldn't continue her wiccan studies, but he wanted to make sure  
first. "Very well, but I'm going to keep an eye on you. Just in  
case." 

Buffy lifted her head from where she'd been leaning against the library  
counter. "Willow, I know he's your friend," she said softly, "but  
under the circumstances, are you sure you can trust him?"

Willow's eyes darkened dangerously, looking harshly at the three. "I  
swear on my soul. He is to be trusted, even with my life."

A jealous look was exchanged between Xander and Buffy, but finally her  
blonde friend nodded. "In that case, welcome to the Scoobies, Oz." 

Chapter: Sixteen  
  
Winter Of 2001  


She sat blankly next to Oz in the empty house, their eyes focused on  
the folded newspaper on the coffee table. The entire front page was a  
puzzle of fifteen pictures of babies and children, while the story  
around it documented the police's lack of suspects, and the fact that  
the only clue they had was an old picture of seven children.

With shaking fingers, Oz flipped the paper over and whimpered like the  
wolf he was, as they saw the picture that Mike had taken of them that  
day they fought Henry at the coal pit. The seven of them, believing  
that they were untouchable after the rock fight.

Bill had been so pumped up that he'd been ready to take on the world,  
his cheesy grin had been contagious and they'd fallen into an easy  
rhythm of jokes and laughter. Stan had stayed his solemn self, but had  
been laughing and cracking jokes with the best of them, aggravating the   
hell out of Oz with his cracks. Oz had been at his most hyper,   
swaggering around doing horrible impersonations and making jokes that  
had them groaning at the bad quality of them.

She and Beverly had been giddy, keeping their heads together and   
whispering to each other. Glaring over at Oz as he would hop over to  
them, separating them in his unsubtle way. Mike had started in on a  
excited conversation with Eddie, who was meeting him word for word.  
That had been the day that they'd been seven friends, and children. It  
had been the day that they'd been able to be the eleven-year-olds that  
they were.

He started to say something smart, but saw the haunted fear in her  
eyes, mirroring his own.

She gulped in a large amount of air. "It's back."

Oz went pale, clenching his jaw. "We have to call the others, warn  
them."

"If we're going to stop It, then we have no choice."

Oz nodded. "I'll call them, but what I don't understand is how It's  
alive?" 

"Dru's back in town," she answered. "She probably summoned It."

"Damn. She's going to get us all killed." Oz looked frankly at her.  
"How the hell are we going to beat It with only four of us left?" 

She walked down the beach, breathing in the damp, salty air. Her mind  
was a wreck of confusion and emotions. Over the years things had  
changed so dramatically. Angel losing his soul and killing Miss  
Calendar, her girlfriend turning herself into a rat, Cordy and Wesley  
becoming part of the Scoobies, only for them to move to LA and help  
Angel. A second Slayer being called and turning evil. Anya joining  
their group after she and Xander became lovers. Spike getting neutered  
and getting stuck with them. Joyce dying, and leaving her and Buffy to  
take care of Dawn. Glory after the young girl because she was the key.

The worst of it was Buffy. Her best and closest friend. The blonde   
seemed to act jealous whenever Oz or Amy were around. To make things  
worse, somewhere down the line she'd fallen in love with the Slayer.

They spent so much time together, taking care of Dawnie, and helping  
each other keep up their college work that it was a natural thing. But  
Buffy wasn't like that. She was into men, with a passion. Now, she  
also had deal with her own past failure, and the one thing she was the  
most afraid of.

It. 

"She'll never love you." The familiar inhuman voice cut into her  
thoughts. "She'll die first, and when she does, she'll float with all  
the others you failed. Stan, Bill, Eddie, Mike..."

She snapped her head around and stared at the clown by the water's  
edge. "Mike?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, didn't you know? The nigger had a little accident.  
Took his head right off." Pennywise laughed through extended razor   
teeth. "How 'bout a balloon? They float, just like you will. Soon.  
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get some takeout for dinner."

'No, It's lying, Mike can't be dead. It's a lie, a terrible lie.'

She watched the clown disappear under the water, orange pom-poms  
floating above where It had been. 

'I've got to find Oz...'

Willow walked into the darkened living room and turned on the news,  
hoping to find some information on It's activities. She couldn't think  
of anything else tonight, not after having Oz confirm Mike's death.  
Their friend had been decapitated when his car had driven over the  
canal bridge. Two hours before, he'd called Bev about It.

"You were out late," Buffy whispered as she sat next to Willow, dressed  
in pajamas.

"I had things to do." Willow turned up the volume, paling at the news  
report.

"...four more children have gone missing in the last twenty four hours,  
bringing the count up to fifty-three in the last two weeks," the  
mustached news anchor was saying. "Tonight, a teenager from the high  
school discovered the body of three-year-old Hope Walker. According to   
reports, the body had been partially devoured, possibly by a wild   
animal. Police have no leads, or clues, except for the mysterious   
picture found by the old pump station where thirteen-year-old Josh Cole  
was last seen. The mayor is now putting out a general warning to all  
parents..."

"What's going on, Will?"

She clicked the television off, slumping against her friend. "What  
makes you think anything's going on?" 

"Because I know you."

Willow cuddled closer to her friend, tears in her eyes. "It's a long  
story." 

"Tell me," Buffy demanded quietly.

"When it's time," she answered as she left her friend sitting on the   
couch.

Oz lay back on his bed, and stared up at the ceiling, trying to come to  
terms with the turn of events in the last couple of weeks. It had been  
simple coincidence for them before. The disappearances, followed by  
chewed-up bodies being found close to sewer entrances and drains.  
Before this, they could fool themselves into believing that It wasn't  
involved this time, but now they had no choice but to believe.

"Did you like the present I left ya, Dog Boy?"

His body froze up as he swallowed back the urge to scream. The clown  
standing over his bed had him on the verge of urinating on himself.

"Who's the werewolf now, boy?" Pennywise screeched with laughter. "In   
a few days you'll be flying with the rest of your friends." He leaned  
close to his ear and whispered happily, "But I would recommend watching  
the in-flight movie. Its ending is...a crashing success."

Oz stayed frozen in place, long after It had left.

'Kids can see It. It goes after kids. It wants to hurt me. It wants  
to break me. It w...'

Willow suddenly sat straight up in bed, throwing the blankets away.  
'Kids. Oh, goddess...'

She hurried down the hall towards Dawnie's room, her only concern to  
make sure she was okay.

The piercing, terrified scream made up her mind as she charged into the  
darkened room.

Pennywise looked up from the hold he had on Buffy's sister, his black  
eyes and elongated teeth gleaming in the dark. She charged, rage  
boiling her blood uncontrollably.

Her fist shot out, slamming into It's jaw, causing just enough pain for   
It to let go of Dawn. She grabbed hold of the back of the young girl's  
shirt and threw her into Buffy as the Slayer skidded into the room at a  
dead run. Her own eyes were swirling black, as the electrical charge  
of magic over took her.

"Leave. Them. A. Lone," she growled, stepping closer and closer to  
the surprised clown. "This is between us, and if you ever, EVER try to  
hurt my friends again, I will make sure that when I kill you this time  
that it will be slower and more painful than anything you could ever  
imagine."

The clown growled back, standing nose to nose with her, chuckling down  
at her, his sewer breath wafting over them. "Willow, it's me Eddie,  
why did you let me die? Why didn't you save me?"

She stepped back at the sound of Eddie's voice, tears fighting to fall.  
"It wasn't my fault..."

It stepped closer, his voice changing again. "Why did you do it? Why  
did you just stand by and let me run to my death? You knew what would  
happen. You knew. How could you?"

"NO!!!" Willow screamed and held her hands out to It's chest, chanting  
in Latin. "BE GONE!!"

The clown howled as it vanished. She shivered violently, the sobs  
shaking her body, causing her knees to give out.

Warm, strong arms surrounded her, rocking her, keeping her safe.  
"We're safe, Wills. It's okay now." 

"No...it's not!" She clawed at Buffy's arms, letting a lifetime of  
pain and anguish out in a violent storm. 

"From what I've read, what you saw last night was a Glamour," Giles  
informed the assembled group. "And according to the records, this  
Glamour was around during the age of dinosaurs. It was asexual and had  
a number of children that spread out around the world, creating all the  
different myths and legends. According the Watchers' diaries I've  
read, only the chosen seven can kill it, and even then they must  
perform an ancient ritual...it's, uh..." He began to flip through a  
book, muttering quietly.

"How do we find these seven, and am I one of them?" Buffy asked. "Why  
did it seem to know Willow?"

Willow sighed and looked up from her position at the window. "It's the  
ritual Chud and no you aren't one of the seven. In fact there's  
nothing you can do it this case." 

Everyone stared at her as she rubbed her eyes tiredly. Giles cleared  
his throat. "And how, may I ask, do you know all this?"

"Because me and Oz are two of the chosen, and we've battled this thing  
before; I thought we'd killed it. That's how we knew each other before  
he moved here."

Giles removed his glasses, wiping them absently. "I believe you'd   
better start at the beginning."

Willow looked at Oz, waiting for his approval. "Like I told Buffy,  
It's a long story, too long to tell you, but the edited version is  
this: The glamour had been living in Derry before It was even built.  
It had taken on the shape of a clown named Pennywise. It would  
hibernate for thirty years, then spend a year using the children for  
food, making the adults insane, and It would mark the end of It's year   
with a tragedy. The year I went to Derry was the year It was awake. I  
meet up with the other six, and It began to try to scare us off,  
knowing we were the ones that could kill It.

"The entire summer went by, with us having small battles with It and  
the people it was using to try and hurt us. Then, after one nasty  
battle at the house that it used to get out, we ended up going into the   
sewers after it. It was...bad, It managed to kill three of us." 

She rubbed her neck wearily as Giles softly spoke. "It would help if I  
had specifics."

"What, exactly?" she asked.

"For example, why wait two months before acting to destroy the  
Glamour?"

Oz spoke up. "It wasn't time."

Buffy stopped pacing angrily. "You guys keep saying that, but what  
does it mean?" 

"There's another force, as powerful as It, but good. It guides us, or  
tries to. The problem is that the day we killed It, it wasn't time for  
us to, but It forced it to happen sooner because It knew It could kill  
some of us." Willow flinched, remembering the nightmarish summer.  
"And now we have to do it again."

"No." Buffy crossed her arms at them. "I'm not letting Willow out of  
my sight until this is over."

Giles cleared his throat. "As much as I agree with you, Buffy, I must  
admit that Willow has experience in this area, and we do not. I don't  
believe we have much of a choice but to defer to her judgment."

"The hell we don't!" shouted Xander, ready to pummel anyone who  
questioned him

Anya spoke up for the first time that night. "Giles is right. The  
Glamour is very powerful, and will destroy this town if we don't let  
them stop it, and only they can stop it." 

"No, Giles said only the seven can stop it. There are now only two,  
and if you think I'm about to stand back and watch the woman I lo..."  
Buffy cut herself off, almost choking on her anger. "Watch my best  
friend get killed saving this damned town, then you're wrong," she  
growled in a steadier voice.

"It won't matter," Oz spoke up. "It's already killed Mike, and early  
this morning...Bev's plane crashed. It's killing us off one by one,  
and if we don't do this, then it will succeed."

Willow had been in denial all morning, unable to face the loss of her  
first real love. But hearing it again, she felt a sliver of grief  
pierce her layers of numb shock.

"I can protect you..." Buffy protested desperately.

"Not against this," Willow interrupted, her haunted, dulled eyes  
hitting Buffy harder than words ever could. "It is everything and  
nothing. It's very presence brings the darker side of all being to the  
surface, and eats off the energy the evil creates. It is everything  
you fear, everything you hate, everything that you despise, and  
everything you never knew could petrify you. It is your deepest,  
darkest, most hidden being."

Everyone was dead silent as she spoke steadily. There was no  
Willow-babble in her voice, no youthful innocence or immaturity.

"We have to do this before it can do anymore damage," she finished.

Buffy glared from Willow to the Oz, then shrugged. "Fine, then I'm   
going with you."

"NO!" Willow spun her friend around with a fury that scared the Slayer.  
"Swear to me that you'll stay here. Swear it!"

"B..." 

"No, I've already lost five of my friends to this...thing," she spat  
out. "I won't lose you too. I couldn't survive it. You're my best  
friend, my family, and I love you. I can't! Lose! You! Do you hear  
me? I can't." She shook the Slayer hard.

"I...swear," Buffy finally whispered with tearful eyes. "I...I'm just  
scared that I'll lose you, Will."

They hugged tightly, neither of them wanting to let go. The rest of  
the group could have been miles away for all they noticed.

Willow broke free with gentle reluctance. "I need to rest if we're  
going to face It tommorrow."

Buffy nodded silently, not trusting herself to speak.

Chapter: Seventeen

  
Winter Of 2001  


Buffy sat on the side of Willow's bed, watching her best friend sleep.  
She loved the redhead and wanted to tie her up and keep her safe from  
the world. For her to find out that the world had already harmed her  
friend long before they met was an alarming slap in the face.

This sweet girl, who'd never hurt anyone intentionally, had seen evil  
up close over and over again throughout her life. It broke the  
Slayer's heart to think of all the pain the witch had suffered. Even  
now, with Willow's mother no longer in the picture, she wanted to go  
hunt the older doctor down and push her into the hellmouth. Or maybe  
feed her to Spike. 

"What are you doing?"

Buffy blushed in the moonlight as Willow blinked at her with sleepy  
eyes. "Watching you."

"Why?"

Buffy's heart swelled up, begging her not to give up this last chance.  
"Because I love you."

"Oh, well, I love you too, but..." 

"No, I mean...I'm in love with you," Buffy whispered as she slowly  
pressed her lips against those of the surprised witch. She silently  
prayed that her friend wouldn't reject her, and tried to deepen the  
kiss. She sighed in pleasure as the witch ran her hand through her  
hair and pulled her closer. 

She broke the kiss and shyly looked down at her friend. "If you  
don't..."

"Get back down here," Willow ordered.

Buffy smiled in relief. "Yes ma'am." 

She yawned into the blonde hair splayed across her chest, a lightness  
in her heart demanding that she stay alive. The tender lovemaking had  
left her feeling complete and loved, in a way that she'd never  
experienced before in her life. For the first time, she felt like part  
of a family.

The Slayer nestled in her arms muttered under her breath, showing the  
first signs of life, as she snuggled closer to her warmth. She laughed   
softly as Buffy's left eye cracked in disgust and slammed firmly shut.  
Her body began to hum happily, sounding like an overgrown cat.

"Buffy," she whispered, rubbing her hand down the Slayer's side. "I  
have to get up."

"Mstgsinoskt," Buffy muttered firmly as she tightened her grip on her  
chest, her head rubbing slowly against her neck.

"I'm serious. The world to save and all that, remember?"

"Hinonshomeastdiaot..." 

Willow grinned evilly, her hand softly tracing the side of her new  
lover's firm, small breast. She felt a very happy mumble rumble from  
Buffy's throat, and eased her hand between them to cup it. The Slayer  
twitched, shifting to accommodate her.

She pinched the nipple with her fingernails, scraping them back and   
forth over it. The Slayer gasped and arched toward her hand, but her  
eyes stayed closed and half-asleep. She let go of the breast and slid  
her hand down between Buffy's legs, cupping her. Her fingers teased  
her soaked lips.

"Tounaogaodnao..." 

She snorted and slid her fingers cleaning inside her, gently probing  
and wiggling. She grabbed Buffy into a deep kiss as her fingers found  
her lover's g-spot. A helpless moan shook Buffy's body, now thrusting  
against her hand. She smiled into the kiss, and used her fingernails  
to dig into her g-spot, sending a thick wave of convulsions through the  
Slayer.

She watched with half-glazed eyes and amusement as the Slayer sat up on  
her hand, throwing her head back and screaming out, fully awake. The   
sweat-slicked body of her lover faltered and collapsed back into her  
arms.

Buffy yawned like a lazy lion and sighed. "Good morning."

Willow chuckled loudly at the Slayer looking up at her in confusion.  
"You're pitiful."

"Me? What did I do?"

She laughed harder at the Slayer. Only Buffy could sleep right through  
that. "Nothing. Nothing at all." She lightly kissed her friend,  
denying her a deeper kiss. "I've got to get ready."

Buffy's eyes darkened, and the Slayer tackled her back down on the bed.  
"No." Buffy crushed their lips together, her hands running down her  
body. 

The witch moaned into her mouth, and raced forward, trying to find a  
way to get out of this situation. She rolled them over and slammed  
Buffy's hands to the mattress. "You're right it can wait." She dived  
back and claimed the Slayer's lips. "In fact, there's something I've  
always wanted to try..." 

Buffy arched up breathlessly. "What?" 

Willow tightened her raggedy old running shoes, and slung her army bag  
over her head and arm. She turned to the muffled screaming and winced.  
"I'm sorry about this, but you left me no choice."

She walked over and checked to make sure the ball gag was tight enough.  
Kissing the angry blonde on the forehead, she backed away, taking in  
the sight of her lover as though her last. The nude Slayer stood on  
the tips of her toes, her wrists attached to the metal pole in her  
closet.

"I love you," Willow whispered quietly and closed the closet door. 

Oz approached the old station with Willow, shining their large  
waterproof flashlights.

"Déjà vu," she whispered.

"What about Buffy?"

She blushed. "She's a little tied up at the moment."

"I don't want to know..."

She entered the dark metal tomb and walked towards the tall morlock  
hole. "Well, I guess this is it."

"Yeah."

They stared at each other sadly, and hugged.

"Let's go kick some clown ass," she whispered.

Buffy swore silently to herself that she was going to kill her lover  
when she got hold of her. Once more she yanked with all of her  
strength on the pole, desperate to get out of this situation and to her  
lover's side before it was to late. 

She yelped as the closet door opened. Her sister stood there gaping at  
her, then broke out into painful bouts of laughter. 

She growled and twisted her body even harder, whimpering pitifully.  
Small hands reached up and undid the thick straps holding her into  
place.

She fell to her feet, ripping the damned ball gag from her mouth, not  
wanting to think about her body's reaction to being left tied up. She  
sprinted into her room, throwing on whatever clothes her hands came to,  
stopping only long enough to grab a flashlight and short sword.

"Buffy, where are you going? Buffy!!" Dawn called behind her as she   
raced out of the house.

She ran faster, hoping to hope she'd find her lover in time.

Willow smirked over at Oz as he stood by, watching her use a spray can  
to paint an arrow on the tunnel wall. The neon yellow was comforting  
at least. She'd been afraid that the spell she'd cast to track It to  
It's new lair would fade after they fought It.

"Just like old times," Oz muttered. 

Willow fell into step with him, moving forward to crawl into the next  
tunnel. The smaller diameter giving her a sense of claustrophobia.  
The smelly water raced by them, coming up to their elbows. She forced  
herself to keep following the silver trail only she could see, holding  
back the memories of the blood engulfing them.

"Now I remember why I hate bathrooms so much."

She chuckled in spite of herself, and stopped as she came to a  
intersection. The silver trail lead to an even smaller pipe to the  
left, and once again she paused long enough to paint on the wall. "You  
mean, other than the memory of nearly getting ripped to shreds by a  
werewolf?"

"Thanks, I really needed to think of that," Oz growled.

They both giggled, not in humor but in a bizarre hysteria of having to  
face death. "Could've been worse?"

"I don't see how."

She giggled harder. "It could've been imitating Rodney Dangerfield."

Oz let out a loud mule snort of laughter. They both faded back into  
the heavy blank of danger.

"Oz?"

"Yeah, Red?"

"I love you, and I'm honored to fight by your side."

"I love you too, kid."

Buffy jumped the rest of the way down into the sewer, her eyes spotting  
the neon arrow immediately. She recognized the W at the tip,  
indicating her lover had put it there. Quickly she sprinted the  
opposite way the arrow pointed, knowing Willow's system too well.

"Hello, young lady..."

Buffy cautiously turned to Pennywise, his silver eyes blanking out into  
a white light, drawing her in.

Willow grunted angrily as she wiggled out of the pipe and into a deep  
pool of grey water. "Damn."

"What?" 

Willow grimaced. "The pipe we need is there." She pointed to the pipe  
just under the grey water.

"I hope you can hold your breath long enough."

She glared over at him and took a deep breath, ducking under the water  
and using her hands to find her way. The need to panic was extensive,   
but she pushed on until her arms were sore, her lungs burned, and she  
felt faint. Her hands ran over the small smooth pipe, searching for  
the way out, reaching forward and finding nothing. 

She propelled herself to the surface, taking in large greedy gulps of  
air. Beside her, a very dirty Oz popped up and gasped slightly.  
Weakly, she swam over to the stone floor above the water and pulled  
herself onto it. Her eyes already taking it in. 

It ran into a gigantic cement tunnel, slowly they walked into it.

"Willow?"

They stopped as Eddie walked out in front of them, his skin wilted and  
dried. "Why did you kill? Why did you stand by and do nothing?"

Willow felt herself begin to falter, her eyes freezing on a bracelet by   
their feet. Slowly she leaned over and picked it up, gently caressing  
it. The silver chain with the engraving on it. 'You are my heart.  
W.R.'

"Buffy's down here," she muttered, ignoring the angry image of Eddie.

She began to walk slowly at first, but with every step she sped up,  
until she was in a sprint. Thin strands of web hung on the walls and  
ceiling, growing thicker as she approached the orange glow of light.  
She slowed before she reached the giant arachnid.

Her eyes scanned the cocoon of webbing, going up and up until she found  
the slumped figure of her new lover. The blonde's head was bobbing up   
and down, while she mumbled to herself, the sign she was trying to  
regain conscience.

"Ohhh, Willlloothe hated voice trilled. "Does thisss belong  
to you?" A clawed hand took hold of Buffy's blonde hair and pulled her  
head upright. 

Willow felt Oz stiffen beside her, but ignored him, her own form  
trembling with rage.

"Sshe's sso ssweet," It rasped. "I ssee why you've wanted her. Sso  
ssoft, sso ssweet-ssmelling. Tell me, doess sshe ssqueal when you fuck  
her? What doess sshe tasste like?"

"You'll never know," she grated through clenched teeth.

"You think sso? Perhapss after you and your little Doggie there are  
dead, I sshould ssee for mysself. Maybe I'll take on your sshape and  
ssavor her awhile before I sslit her throat. Imagine how sshe'll feel  
being raped by the one sshe thinkss lovess her..."

'It wants me angry,' she thought. 'It's playing on my nerves. But  
It's made a fatal mistake.' "You shouldn't have brought her here," she  
said out loud. "It just reminds me of what I have to live for. Of all  
that's good and beautiful in my life." 

"Ohhh? And you think you can sslay me before I rip her heart out?"

"I don't have to lay a hand on you," she said. "This isn't a battle of  
bodies, it's a contest of wills." She smiled. "And nobody's got more  
will..." 

"Than my gal, Wills," Oz finished behind her. 

There was an angry quality to the scuttling hiss as it settled on the  
tunnel floor before her.

"I'm not some scared, insecure child now," she declared intently.  
"I've grown, I've developed, and I've completely accepted myself."   
Buffy's love, finally affirmed last night, was the final piece of her  
soul, filling in the gaps and leaving no holes for It to penetrate.

"I beat you once, when I was just a girl," she added. "Now I'm a  
woman. And I've been practicing." 

Willow stared defiantly into Its eyes and muttered under her breath,  
the tunnel around her fading away. The darkness of the Nether World  
greeted them as they circled each other. She reached out with her mind  
and locked onto It, forcing images and feelings through the link.

Every happy, joyous, loving event made the creature scream out in  
agony. At the front of her mind, was Buffy, loving her, accepting her,  
being there for her, existing. She sent the thoughts faster as she  
felt It's soul being ripped apart.

A death rattle escaped it, the creature bursting into slivers of  
dimming light.

"Willow?!"

She blinked in the flash light lit tunnel. "Where did It go?" 

"It exploded."

She nodded silently and watched as the web fell to the floor. Acting  
fast, she caught her lover with her mind, and lowered her to the floor  
at her feet. The blonde yawned loudly, and mumbled. Exasperated with  
the Slayer, she gently slapped her, smirking as Buffy's confused blue   
eyes looked around.

"Wh-what happened?"

"We swam, we fought, and we lived," she answered, leaning down to kiss  
her. "Come on, oh chosen one, let's get the hell out of here."

  
EPILOGUE  


She spooned against her lover, unable to believe any of it was real.  
All those years of secretly being in love with her, and now Buffy loved  
her back.

"Go to sleep." 

She smiled into the back of her neck. "I was just thinking."

"'Bout what?"

"How much I love you."

Buffy squirmed back against her. "Luv you, too."

Willow closed her eyes. "Sometimes I wonder why I was picked."

"Because you're Willow. Now go to sleep."

"Fine."

"Willow?" 

"Mmm-hmm?"

"You know how you tied me up in the closet?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"Could we...do that again?"

Willow chuckled and ran her hand down her lover's stomach. "Oh,  
yeah..."


End file.
